Midnight Mass

Note to self – have all your Christmas shopping done BEFORE Christmas Eve in future. Especially if you live in Bromley, as (unfortunately) I do. To say that the majority of the people that live there are morons, imbecils and monstrously common would be a drastic understatement.

I decided that socks might be a tad unoriginal for Dad’s Christmas present. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed opening the same gift for the last six years I’m sure but still, I felt that it would be only fair to ring the changes. Add to that the fact that I was able to pinch a twenty from mother’s purse when she was asleep this afternoon, and I was suddenly feeling quite generous. So I decided to buy the old boy a decent looking shirt for weekend wear. Dad’s never really embraced the “relaxed” look, favouring a blazer and tie, even on a Saturday afternoon. So I thought a damn trendy rugger shirt would go down a storm and be an easy choice for me. Perhaps it would be if I lived somewhere pleasant. Some appealing market town in the shires perhaps. But no. I had to spend my hard “borrowed” cash in Bromley’s Discount Madhouse (obviously I wanted there to be a decent amount of change for me to buy a small treat for myself). The atmosphere in there was similar to how I imagine things were when the Herald of Free Enterprise was a 900 yards out of Zeebrugge. Panicked, and full of ghastly people who’d probably been drinking too much. An hour later I made it to the cash tills and was able to get out but not without sustaining some severe mental scarring. No, I shall not be choosing to buy in Bromley when the time comes for me to purchase an abode of my own…

Ralph and I are heading to midnight mass now. Chiefly to be warmed by communion wine before starting on his father’s port. Bring it on!

Phone Fear

HAVE to finish Christmas shopping this morning or I am seriously dead meat. Shouldn’t be too much of a chore but it’s still a pain. Why should I have to buy anyone gifts anyway? It’s not like I’m earning any money, and besides the fact that I can’t afford to buy anything, I show my parents ample love and respect during the rest of the year… Oh well, needs must I suppose.

I tried to call Zoe this morning but her mum said that she wasn’t in. I was seriously annoyed. It had taken me the best part of two hours to pluck up the courage to dial the number in the first place. I kept staring at the numbers on the keypad and then hanging up. All that stress for nothing. Her mum asked who was calling and stupidly I didn’t leave my name. It would have been the perfect get out clause for having to ring her again. Now I’m going to have to call back and go through the hideous fear all over again or she’s going to think I haven’t made the effort. Mind you, I don’t see why she isn’t just as obliged to call me too. That’s women for you I guess. I’d better get used to this..

Ralph said that Devin is panicking that Abby Mac might be pregnant. I’m sure he’s fussing about nothing. She’s not stupid enough to have done anything without protection. Devin’s such a nerd he probably doesn’t realise that using a jonnie pretty much protects you from the worst case scenario. Part of me hopes she IS pregnant. That would make for some LEGENDARY gossip at school after Christmas. How fantastic. The two squarest people in school being teen parents. CLASSIC! Christmas Eve tomorrow.. I hope I’ve got some good presents otherwise there’ll be Hell to pay.

GIRLFRIEND!!

Just got home. WHAT A NIGHT!! Probably the best party that there has ever been on Planet Earth. Such a bloody riot. It was LEGENDARY! Of course I was way too bloody drunk to pop my cherry but the good news is that Zoe Hall is officially my girlfriend. Oh yes! I might not have said this in the past but Zoe Hall is officially the best looking girl in school, without a shadow of a doubt. Lindsay Joyner was even at the party and I didn’t give her a second glance. Neither did she to be fair. Robin was still trying his hardest to get his knob in but she was totally disinterested. She’s probably a bloody lezzer. She doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the chaps, no matter how “good looking” everyone else thinks they are. Either that or she’s TOTALLY frigid.

AND Abby MacKenzie shagged Devin Whitfield!! Fair play to the lad cos he’s a total loser but then on the other hand she’s a massive square. Still, a shag is a shag and I have to bow to the man who gets his end away before I do! I don’t suppose he’ll enjoy the aftermath though. If he’s lucky it’ll be considered old news by the time we get back to school after the holidays.

So me and Zoe snogged for an HOUR and then she let me touch her boobs, UNDER the bra!! Get in!! It was weird. They felt less spongy than I was expecting but that’s probably a good thing. She said that if her parents weren’t coming home she would definitely have been up for a shag. She even touched my bare nuts. It was AMAZING. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to concentrate on A-levels now..

Sisterly Chats

Sal called this morning at breakfast. She said that she wanted to meet me in town “for a chat”. Bloody typical hormonal woman. We met in the Mona Lisa Café in Medhurst's. What a bloody dive. Apart from us the clientele was made up entirely of elderly ladies in plastic raincoats. It was monumentally depressing, not least as Sal wanted to have a massive rant at me for not calling her to congratulate her on her engagement to knobface. I tried a half-hearted apology but it didn’t wash so then I informed her that I had been far too busy with my A-level mocks and said she wouldn’t understand as she never bothered with higher education. That went down like a cup of cold sick but I was riled. It wasn’t my fault. She called me a bastard, I called her self-obsessed and then she cried. After that everything was fine. Giving her hand a trusty squeeze was all it took.

She at least realises that her in-laws are the gippos from Hell. Apparently Ian’s uncle is currently doing time for car theft. They say they don’t speak to him anymore but still, it doesn’t bode well gene wise for my potential nieces and nephews. I don’t really want relatives who are going to be inclined to steal from me in the future. Especially as I’m bound to be extremely rich and successful and have all the things that they can only dream of.

After over an hour of her her her, she finally asked me about my social life and I decided to tell her about tonight’s party. To her credit she actually seemed genuinely excited for me. I didn’t mention the whole sex thing though I did say that there was a girl who was interested in me. Annoyingly this just made her laugh. Shortly after that I made my excuses and left. Managed to pick up some discounted perfume for Mother. I hope she likes it. It smells a bit like lavender which I’m sure old women love..

Now I need to go to that chemists and then get ready. Only six hours to go…

Grannie Drive

Naturally, it being a Sunday, Grannie B and Grannie H came over for their weekly feed. Mother was on surprisingly good form. Though that might have been because Dad was at the office all morning. And possibly something to do with the early opening of a new bottle of sherry. But she made a fabulous roast lamb. Grannie B didn’t even complain about the consistency of the gravy which meant that Mother stayed in a good mood all afternoon.

I was allowed to drive the old dears home at teatime, accompanied by Dad. You could see the whites of their knuckles as they gripped onto the door handles on the back seat. Nothing like having a bit of confidence in their favourite grandson…

I am seriously behind on Christmas shopping now. I think my attention is being distracted by constantly moving from excitement to abject terror at the prospect of tomorrow night’s party. (still no jonnies). I am ABSOLUTELY DEFINITELY going to pick some up from that chemist up the road tomorrow morning. I don’t care who’s serving. I’m seventeen for Christ’s sake. It’s not like it’s illegal. And anyway, people should be applauding the fact that I’m making sure to take the necessary precautions. I realise I’m jumping the gun slightly. It occurred to me that Zoe and I haven’t actually spoken about “us” yet. But still, I’m reasonably confident that after a couple of vodka and orange juices she’ll be fair game..

Ralph’s making a CD mix to play when we get there. Slightly pissed off that she didn’t ask me to do it but also relieved. I’ll freely admit that I have a “different” taste in music to a lot of people at school. But that’s just a sign that I have much BETTER taste than they do.

The Witch

Sometimes I think Mother reckons I’m still ten years old, the things she asks me to do. This morning I have had to go to round all the houses on the street and deliver the neighbours their Christmas cards. It’s such a load of nonsense that she gives them cards anyway. Half of them she can’t even stand. There’s one woman in particular who I also find most peculiar. In fact I don’t doubt that had we been living 400 years earlier she’d probably have been tried as a witch.

I remember a couple of Christmases ago (actually it was probably more like six, but they’re all sort of blurring now) Dad and Mother invited most of the street over for Christmas drinks on the 23^rd. Loads of people came. Corin and Lydia next door are damn good eggs and they were on fine form. Their daughter Samantha is also particularly fine looking, though she is older than me and therefore totally uninterested.. Anyway, Janis (that’s the witch’s name) came round with her husband Horatio (I kid you not) and proceeded to tell Mother that she was “letting the front garden go”. Horatio apologised at once (I imagine he is terribly hen pecked) and explained that Janis had been “feeling under the weather” for some time. A little later I saw her coming out of Dad and Mother’s bedroom. Christ only knows what she’d been up to in there but before I could say anything she was downstairs informing Mother that I had been spying on her in the bathroom! Utterly insane. I protested my innocence at which point she stormed off. I still think Mother is unsure which of us to believe which I find quite galling.. Anyway, it should go without saying that I didn’t put their Christmas card through their letterbox. Instead I put it in the bin.

En Suite

Christ, the holidays really are the dog’s bloody bollocks. Got up at 11:30 today. Turns out I must have needed a damn good kip as I didn’t wake up until then. Not once. And I went to bed before midnight last night. Still tired to be honest but I need to crack on with some Christmas shopping sharpish. Can’t believe it’s only a week away..

My report had arrived this morning. The words from the powers that be were not exactly full of praise. Dad described my report as a curate’s egg. When I looked at him like he was mad he explained that a curate’s egg was only good in parts and, as such, you probably wouldn’t want to eat any of it. He sort of laughed though and then informed me that it was my “future to mess up” if I wanted to. Thanks Dad.

Mother had her ladies over after lunch so I got a lift with Dad into town and met up with Ralph. We soon realised that we were rather bored of each other’s company and decided to not see each other before the party on Monday. I passed a tiny chemists on the walk home and went in to see if they sold the you-know-whats. The good news is they do. The bad news is that the only person who seems to work in there is a woman who appears to be in her late sixties. I might have to have a small toke of voddie before I go in again and ask her to hand them over..

Just going to chill and watch some TV tonight. I’m moving into Sal’s old room which is cool as it’s got a TV and a sink. The sink is basically an en suite bathroom if you think about it. The only thing I can’t do in a sink is have a dump.

Fake Tree

Well, I’m home. It’s the Christmas Hols! Thank bloody God for that! Dad turned up at lunchtime and we drove home in near silence. I think he’s trying to be in a mood with me on behalf of Sal because I haven’t called her since the engagement announcement. Big bloody deal. It’s not my fault that I’m wise enough to know that the whole damn thing’s doomed from the off.. He also made a fleeting query about how I’d got on with my mocks so I glossed over that subject to the best of my ability. It’s bound to rear its head again before too long though so I’d better come up with some creative excuses for not divulging my results.

Mother was asleep in the living room when I got home. Dad reckoned she was exhausted from putting up the Christmas decorations. He’s so bloody soft it’s hopeless. I’m not sure even I would be worn out from taking a four foot fake tree out of a box and plugging it in. I couldn’t help noticing the empty glass of brandy on the table next to her but thought I wouldn’t mention it. Dad looks thinner than I’ve ever seen him before. Probably a mixture of stresses – being married to my sizzled mother is one, and being about to fork out for the most disastrous wedding in modern history the other. It’s enough to put you off getting married and having kids… Must get those jonnies..

Having said that of course, my marriage is bound to be a roaring success as I know I’m destined to end up with a bloody fox who is just desperate to do my every bidding and answer my every whim. Can’t bloody wait for that! In the meantime I shall make do with keeping Zoe Hall suitably serviced. Bring it on!

The A List

Hmmm.. slight issue. 62% in English. Pass. 59% in Spanish. Pass. 36%
in Economics. Not quite what we want. I think Mr Davis feels like I've
let down the whole school. Apparently it's the lowest mark ever
achieved in a mock A level. I mean, RELAX. It's a MOCK! Obviously I
wasn't really trying. Honestly some people just need to take a serious
chill pill. He's now talking about individual coaching in the hols.
Like that's going to happen. Luckily the end of term reports have
already been written and posted so I don't have to fess up to the
folks. Not yet anyway. Knowing Davis he'll probably call them for
"crisis talks" or something similarly over-dramatic. What a lot of
nonsense and fuss about nothing. I'm far more concerned about what I
should wear to Zoe's party on Monday night.

Oh yes. It's ON! And I'm invited. I'm probably the guest of honour in
her eyes. She must want me. If she was at all concerned about the
trouser fumble she would have excluded me from the list. Seriously
excited. Of course now I have to go and buy some condoms. Not
something I've ever done before. I could pinch some out of Dad's
bedside cabinet but it's been so long since the parentals have enjoyed
an active sex life I reckon his jonnies will have perished by now. I
wonder where I should make the purchase.. If I wait til I get home
then one of mother's associates is bound to be in the same queue as me
at Boots and I'll be the sauce of Rummy gossip for the entire festive
season.

No, I think I'll have to get it all sorted before then. That's not the
half of it of course. Having never put one on I'm really at a bit of a
loss as to how it all works. Let's hope Zoe knows what she's doing...

Results

Oh my God. I think I might actually be dead. I have NEVER drunk that much booze in one evening. I don’t know what Hargreaves was thinking, God bless him. What a LEDGE housemaster! He’d obviously massively over-ordered and we all ended up with little short of a crate of McEwan’s each! Combine that with the fact that the “dinner” came out of the school kitchens and was therefore largely left on the plate, and it amounted to a bloody tipsy night.

In the end we decided against games. No one was in the mood and Ed Williams got his dad to bring his decks in so we turned the TV room into a small-scale nightclub. It was a bloody good laugh actually. Miss Dobson was no less smashed than the rest of us and Jonny may well have snogged her had Matron not stepped in to preserve what was left of her dignity. She was bundled into a cab about ten minutes later. Christ knows if she ever made it home. Can’t wait to shame them in assembly tomorrow morning. We would have done it today had we not all been so utterly hanging.. I’d be surprised if we see Dobson this side of the new year all things considered.

Mock results are going up on the boards later this afternoon. Not exactly relishing finding out how badly I’ve done but fuck it, it’s nearly Christmas. It’s not like the parentals are even going to be aware of my results. They seem to be far too wrapped up in their own dilemmas at the moment. Haven’t heard from either of them for almost two weeks now. Christ knows who’s coming to pick me up and take me home. Perhaps I’m supposed to carry my own trunk on the train like some sort of Victorian pauper. Ridiculous…

House Games

Once again my status as the “sixth former with time on his hands” has found me roped into setting up the house Christmas dinner tonight. On the plus side it means I get to organise the seating plan which will ensure that I am not sitting amongst the arrogant bastards of the boarding house. I have decided to place myself between Adam Fuller because he is quite amusing, especially when inebriated, and Jonny Adkins because he is popular and will make me look cool. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Obviously I’m pretty bloody awesome in my own right but there’s no harm in accentuating the positive..

Hargreaves wants me to come up with a game that everyone can play afterwards. That’s a tough call, considering there’s fifty of us that live here and eight members of staff who will be attending too. I’m tempted to suggest that he leads us in a game of hide and seek and then we all get smashed while he’s waiting for us in some cupboard. Oh, he also wants me to make sure that one of the third years takes a plate of food to Dominic Lafferty’s study so he at least gets something to eat. Big mistake. There’s every chance that that plate of food will end up smeared over the walls of the entrance hall if Lafferty’s behaviour of late is anything to go by. He’s really quite deranged. The sooner he gets out of the public school system the better. I think he’d agree with that too, given his utter loathing of anything vaguely privileged or middle class. Apparently he’s the heir to a multi million pound fortune as well. What a massive waste. He’ll only piss it up the wall on charitable donations and other pointless tat. Makes you sick…

An Excellent Uncle

Bloody wicked afternoon, yesterday. Ralph and I headed to Deerham as planned and made our way to The Old Fox. Charming pub. Legendary landlord, totally bonkers. Really bloody cuckoo. We drank far too much of course, as the old boy just kept bringing us more and more booze. He hadn’t a clue that we were underage. I think he’s probably from a time when there was no minimum age. By the time we left it was almost pitch black outside. There was no way either of us were in a state to make our way back across the moor to the city so we had to knock up Ralph’s uncle. Bloody good egg. He took us under his wing big style and sobered us up with pints of water and coffee and then he drove us back to the school gates so we were ensconced in our respective studies in plenty of time. Reckon Hargreaves was slightly suss but he couldn’t do anything as the excruciating nausea had passed. I was just in rather a jolly mood!

I did consider heading out again in time for the end of supper leave to meet the revellers but decided to stay low key. Probably for the best. I was clearly going to be on Hargreaves radar for the duration of the evening. Hope Zoe wasn’t expecting to see me. Will find out today what the plan is for the party. Have decided, what’s the worst that can happen if I do bring it up? She can only say no. And if she does then at least I’ll know where I stand. God, she’d better not say no though. I’ll be bloody gutted. Just think, in a little over a weeks’ time I could be a fully-fledged sexually active individual. I will have properly made it in life. Ruddy awesome.

New Pub

Got absolute rat-arsed in Hargreaves’ flat last night. Not as rat-arsed as Dominic Lafferty of course. Yet again he couldn’t handle his booze and had a pop at the middle classes, forgetting that he’s a fully paid up member of said class. He knocked over one of Hargreaves’ porcelain thimbles before running into his bathroom and yacking up (more on the pedestal mat than down the pan). Needless to say Hargreaves has banned him from the House Christmas dinner on Monday night. I don’t know where he expects him to go. It’s not like he can be locked in his study. Lafferty will find a way to get hold of some booze. He always does. I’m going to predict here and now that there’ll be fireworks between those two before Tuesday morning. CLASSIC!

Ralph and I are going for a “run” this afternoon. This whole dressing up in PE kit just to go and get shit-faced in a boozer three miles away is losing its appeal though. I might even take a change of clothes in a ruck-sack this time. I’m sure the other drinkers must think we’re bloody odd sat there in white shorts in the middle of December. We’re going to try somewhere else near Deerham today. Ralph reckons he knows the perfect place. It’s not far from where his uncle lives apparently. I think we should just go round his uncle’s place and crack into his booze but Ralph reckons that’s a non-starter. We’ll see.. I’ve got to buy the smokes again. I’m sure it’s not my turn. Plus Ralph is going through a “hard” phase and makes me buy the red packet. Urgh, it’s like putting an exhaust pipe in your mouth. I might over-rule him on this one. I think it’s time I started demonstrating that I’m not a complete pushover.

Mock Shortbread

I decided to be super-generous and take Elspeth a Christmas present when I went to see her yesterday afternoon. I bought her a tin of shortbread from Sainsbury’s. One of those ones that comes in a tin that looks like it’s got a ribbon around it. I thought that was pretty damn generous of me but she didn’t seem remotely impressed. Bloody old hag. Don’t think I’ll bother with her anymore. That was £1.49 down the bloody drain. Honestly, she looked at it like I’d given her a tin of dog turds. Elspeth; that’s probably a Scottish name isn’t it.. They’re a dour old bunch. I expect she doesn’t really believe in celebrating Christmas, or anything else come to that. These war veterans are all about sufferance and hardship. They bloody love it. Well, they can have it. I’m not going to feel bad about wanting to enjoy life. Sorry Elspeth, you’re history.

My driving test has been cancelled next week. Total pain in the arse. Now I’m not going to be able to drive during the hols which is going to make impressing Zoe a damn sight harder. I spoke to Ralph about the party. He thinks I should ask her about it. He says it’ll be a good way to “open up a dialogue” – I seriously question Ralph’s taste in vocab at times. I want him to ask. Hard as it is to admit, he’s better looking than me, and Zoe’s bound to be more encouraged if he mentions it to her. She’ll think I’m just after more fumbles if I say anything. Of course that’s exactly what I am after but I don’t want to make it obvious. Last mock today. Who’d be a teacher? They’ve got to get them all marked and results back to us by Wednesday. I think I can safely say I’m not particularly looking forward to Wednesday..

Christmas Is Coming

Colin Weston’s mum has gone into a hospice. Apparently you don’t really come out of hospices. Well you do, but you’re usually in a wooden box and not breathing any more. Poor chap. Well, poor woman too I guess, but I think Colin’s really going to struggle with it. He’s desperately unpopular and now he hasn’t got any parents to turn to in his hours of need. What a dire situation to be in. Puts my family’s woes in the shade.

I still haven’t spoken to Sal. She’ll be in a mood with me by now. I’ll just make out that I’ve been super-busy with the A-level mocks. She’ll understand. She didn’t do A-levels so hopefully she thinks they’re really stressful and occupy your every waking moment. In fact for most people they probably do but I can’t seem to get too worked up about them. Maybe I will nearer the time but I’m far too concerned about popping this incredibly persistent cherry of mine. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t been on the phone to be honest. He’s usually quite good at informing me that I should ring Mother/Sal/Auntie Helen (delete as applicable) but there’s not been a word from the homestead since I received the letter a week ago. I wonder how things are. I expect Mother’s found the whole thing to be another excuse to get blotto. I ought to try and squeeze in an exeat before the end of term but frankly that’s not going to happen. Christ, I’ve just realised we break up next week! How dense of me. A week today we’ll be packing our trunks and heading off. Zoe had better have that party And she’d better have it this side of Christmas. Christmas. Presents. Haven’t bought a thing. But then I’m skint so I can’t buy much. Socks for Dad, candles for Mother, CD for Sal. Job done.

Booze Paradox

Halfway through these arsing mocks. What a total pain in the cheeks they are. And a waste of time in my opinion. Surely we should be concentrating our efforts on the real thing? Honestly, sometimes I really wonder about the effectiveness of the people running this institution. I mean I’m sure they’re bloody good chaps and all that but they do seem to enjoy putting the fear of God into one when it’s really not necessary. If people want to smoke, let them smoke. It’s their own health that they’re putting at stake, no one else’s. Mostly.. And booze. That’s the real paradox.

We’re banned from consuming alcohol in public but Hargreaves and others are more than happy to ship in crateloads of the stuff to their own flat, then invite us in and get us hammered on McEwans. Bizarre. Even the 3^rd years are allowed enough to get a bit wobbly at the end of term. Far better that we should be given the responsibility of looking after ourselves. I can tell you now that given the choice of openly sipping a gin and tonic at my desk of an evening, or having to pretend that I’m quaffing a mug of coffee, when it’s actually filled with Martini Rosso, well, you can imagine what I’d rather be doing.

Still haven’t really spoken to Zoe since the trouser touch. It’s so frustrating. I just completely clam up when I’m stone cold sober and there’s other people around. I don’t know why I worry that she’s going to be icily hostile but I can’t shake the fear that she’s relishing the opportunity to humiliate me in public. I clearly need some kind of counselling. Ralph just sighs and rolls his eyes when I express my concerns. It’s alright for him. He’s been doing this for years. Pity the late starter. It’s a bad place to be.

Orange Tights

An advent calendar arrived in the post this morning. I think it’s from Dad, though it purported to be from Mother. The signature was decidedly unconvincing, not least due to the sober nature of its construction.. Still, I’m pleased to have received one from someone. It’s not chocolate of course but, as I have already mentioned, that pleases me frankly.

Ralph has been made a house monitor. I can’t bloody believe it. It’s a total sham and it’s only the case because Mark C was one and, now he’s in his Arizona retreat, he’s “unavailable for duty” (these were the actual words of Ralph’s housemaster). I’m now the only person I know with a plain black tie. Ralph can now wear one with red stripes. It’s so bloody unfair. He’d better not get ideas above his station. It’s only a house monitorship I suppose. If he was a school monitor that would be a different thing altogether. They get to walk on the lawns. And I know Ralph. He’d deliberately do that just because I couldn’t.

Apparently Mark C will be back next term. Poor bloke. We never did get to the bottom of the charlie scandal. My money’s on Ed Humphreys. But that’s only because whenever there’s a drug story doing the rounds Ed’s name usually pops up somewhere along the way. He’s a jammy bastard you know. I think sometimes people are just born lucky and they flaunt it. They can get away with outrageous behaviour because of it. I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if Ed ends up in politics. Luck always runs out of course. So one day I’ll doubtless read that he’s been found dead, lying on a hotel bed with a pair of black tights over his head and an orange segment wedged in his mouth. It’s how he’d want to go I’m quite sure..

House Notes

Henry’s asked me to help him fine tune (his words) the house notes for this term. Feel rather honoured actually. I thought he was a bit of a meat head to be honest but if he’s picking up on the fact that I’m actually something of a wit then he can’t be as dense as all that. Of course now the pressure is on. When I said yes last night I thought I knew every morsel of house gossip there was but now I think about it I hardly know anything. Still, I’m sure that between us we can come up with something terribly droll.

My stomach’s already in knots about the bloody uni interview letters. Alex Dudley has already had an invitation to an attend interview from Oxford for Christ’s sake. No doubt he got his application in weeks ahead of the closing date but still. What if none of them want to see me?? Not going to happen of course but I can’t get the worry out of my mind. The shame of it. I suppose I should worry more about passing the actual A-levels in the first instance. English this afternoon. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m hoping there’s an Othello question. There’d better be. It’s the only Shakespeare I’ve got to grips with. That Iago was a bit of a shit wasn’t he? I mean we’re all a little bit racist from time to time but that really takes the cake…

Zoe will be in my English exam. I’m going to try and instigate a conversation with her afterwards. Maybe even see if she fancies a cup of tea in my study. I know that’s a ridiculous notion as I will hopelessly chicken out of saying anything at all when I actually see her but still. The thought’s there.

Rotten Apples

I really don’t understand why we are forced to attend matins every Sunday morning. I mean, if you believe then of course you might like to head over for a spot of thoughtful prayer, but if you don’t it’s just really rather an insufferable waste of time. Especially as I have so much else to think about now. This morning the priest (is it a priest? After all these years I’m still not really sure) told us that we should think about a boy he had witnessed stealing an apple from a fruit stall in the high street during the week. He told us that we should recognise that the boy did wrong but the fact that we could not know whether the boy knew he was doing wrong meant that we should naturally be inclined to forgive him his trespasses. Oh for goodness sake. What a lot of rot. When I was three years old I stole three fifty pence pieces from my grandfather’s coin purse. I knew I was doing wrong. I knew because I made sure that no one saw me do it. I think I believed that being in possession of £1.50 would make me quite possibly the richest person in all Christendom. Unfortunately my mother found the fifty pence pieces later that day and threatened to take me to the police station if I ever did anything similar again. I cried. She cried. I went to bed. And knowing Mother she probably had a few gins to get over the shock of discovering that her son was already turning to petty crime for cheap thrills..

Zoe went out on supper leave with a bunch of other girls last night. I tried to nonchalantly hang around near her boarding house hoping for a repeat of Friday’s night’s fun but I must have missed them somehow. I didn’t sleep well. I wonder if she’s thinking about me..

Touching Cloth

Zoe touched my penis! Well, not touched exactly but she definitely felt it through my trousers. Unfortunately she caught me completely unawares and so I wasn’t exactly at my most impressive. Worse still, no matter what, I just couldn’t make it happen. I thought about Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Liaisons, about Jessica Rabbit, about Elisabeth Shue in Cocktail. Christ I even let Sam Fox cross my mind but nothing. Luckily I think Zoe was too drunk to notice. She managed to get Abby MacKenzie to give up her booze rations so she got through four pints of Carlsberg. That’s a hell of a lot for a bird. But at least it meant I got a fumble AND a semi snog. Can’t wait to report all to Ralph this afternoon at “Cross Country”. I just hope our session isn’t ruined by the unwelcome presence of the teaching staff..

The Uni application is done and in thank Christ! Of course I was fully intending to give up Choral Society and my visits to Elspeth as soon as Hargreaves had signed on the dotted line but now I find I’m quite enjoying both, in a bizarre way. Let’s face it, I haven’t got a whole lot else going on. I could argue that I should be using the time to revise but I know myself well enough to realise that that’s not going to happen. If it’s a choice between opening a text book or hanging out in town drinking coffee and sneaking the occasional cheeky fag it’s not bloody rocket science to figure out what I’ll be doing. No, I think Elspeth and I will become firm friends in time. She might even leave me her house when she carks it. Must ask her if she’s got any family left next time I’m there…

Nervous Old Lady

I expect Sal is waiting for me to call with congratulations on her “exciting” news. I just can’t bring myself to pick up the phone. I was still awake at two o’clock this morning fretting about the wedding. Let’s hope something comes along to screw it all up before we get that far..

Spanish mock went okay yesterday afternoon. Elaine Jones had an asthma attack halfway through so she didn’t get to finish. At least that means I won’t come last this time. Well I’d better bloody not.

After that I went to see Elspeth again. On my own this time. I could tell she was slightly anxious. She sat right in the corner of the room and I couldn’t see her left hand. I think she was clutching a stick or something, just out of sight, in case I suddenly went mad and tried to attack her. As if! I think she warmed to me eventually though she seemed rather offended that I didn’t eat any of her stale biscuits. I wonder if all old people eat stale biscuits or whether it’s just people who are sad and lonely enough to require visits from sixth formers who need more brownie points for their uni applications. That’s the task of the day today. Hargreaves has said he’ll fill in his bit for everyone tonight and post them off in the morning. I’ve almost got it sussed in my head now. I’m applying to Bristol and Cardiff but that’s mostly because Ralph is too and it would be a bloody riot if we end up going to the same place. And Zoe is only applying to London colleges so if I end up at arsing Roehampton then at least I’ll have totty on tap, if all goes as planned in that department.

Must brace myself for a shower before heading to the JCR, just in case..

The Letter

So a letter has arrived this morning. It’s from Sal. And it says:

“Dear Clarence,

I wanted to write this in a letter so you’d be able to keep it for old times’ sake.

On Sunday Ian proposed to me and I said yes!!!! Isn’t that just the most exciting thing ever?? He even asked Dad formally for my hand in marriage. He’s such a great guy and is going to be a brilliant brother to you Clarence. He’s already got lots of ideas about what you should do with your life. I’m so happy.

The engagement ring was his grandmother’s. It’s a beautiful sapphire and diamond cluster. All the girls at work are really jealous.

The wedding will probably happen in May next year. It’s going to be brilliant!!

Speak to you soon

Lots of love

Sal xxx”

I am still shaking. This is basically the end of our family, such as it is. If she thinks I’m having anything to do with Ian’s lot then she’s seriously deluded. Oh and “he’s already got lots of ideas about what you should do with your life”.. er, excuse me??! If he so much as puts forward an opinion on ANYTHING I express an interest in doing then I will actually summon up some kind of primeval urge and punch him so hard in the face he’ll look like a Chinaman.

I feel absolutely sick to the core. And what a bloody povvo. Giving her his grandmother’s ring. Everyone knows you’re supposed to spend shit loads of cash on an engagement ring. Not just nick it off a dead relative and palm it off as a heartfelt gesture. What a despicable knob. I seriously don’t think I’m going to be able to be civil to him when we next have to meet. No doubt they’re already planning some sort of hideous engagement party. I pray God that it’s not going to be at our house. For a start Mother will undoubtedly shame herself with a drunken spectacle and I don’t doubt his family will probably rob us blind of every antique we own. What a complete and unmitigated disaster.

Dirty Downstairs

It’s still arsingly freezing cold in this house. I had to get a blanket out of the emergency supplies yesterday evening. I don’t care that Matron gave me a look that suggested she thought I really ought to be a lot more hardy about things. It’s cold. I’m trying to stay warm. It’s as simple as that. Why deliberately suffer?

Unfortunately the Siberian temperatures are making it almost unbearable to set foot in the showers. That water is never really what you could describe as hot. It doesn’t matter most of the time but in weather like this you really need it to burn. So I’m not feeling at my most hygienic. Which means I should probably steer clear of Zoe Hall this evening. Don’t want to find that she’s suddenly up for a bit of how’s your father when I’m less than spring clean down there… I’m sure I’m being overly cautious. We’re doubtless several months away from the fellating stage of our not-yet-started relationship but with girls sometimes they just whip it out and get to work. Of course I don’t speak from experience but Henry (whom I'm inclined to believe when it comes to matters of the bedroom) said he’s been caught unawares on two occasions. It’s not that he’s particularly handsome. But his position of alleged power, being head of house, does funny things to females perception of him. It’s a nonsense of course but it’s sadly true.

I’m going to call home this evening. I’m imaging it’s safe now. I’m going to confess that I didn’t pass the test again. It’s obvious to all that I’ve just been the victim of unfortunate circumstance and Dad would never give me any grief over these things. I just feel it would be polite to advise him in advance this time that he’s about to be billed for a third test in the next week or so. I’m hoping I can get it in before Christmas. Especially if things kick off with Zoe at her party. I’d look so damn cool if I was able to drive over to her house.

Arctic Blast

Still nothing from home. Excellent. I’m just writing this while furiously downing toast. It has suddenly got marginally colder than Alaska in the boarding house. The hot water pipes are very good at making a load of noise but they don’t seem to actually generate heat, which is a fundamental flaw in my opinion. I mentioned it to Hargreaves but he just offered up a wry smile and said something like “You should try living through a world war. Then you’d understand suffering”. What that’s supposed to mean coming from him, I’ve no bloody clue. It’s not like he survived the death camps. From the look of him he was probably evacuated to an idyllic farmstead in the north of England and was force-fed currant buns and full cream milk.

Mother didn’t send me an advent calendar, needless to say. I wouldn’t mind. I realise that at 17 I shouldn’t necessarily want one but almost every other bastard in the house has one. Even Henry for God’s sake. Ralph’s got a chocolate one of course, but he’s always been spoilt. I might have to go and buy myself one in secret just so I don’t look like I’ve been abandoned. They can’t cost much. Just one with pictures for me. I might not be religious but I know that Christmas isn’t about chocolates that taste like they’ve been open too long.

First mock on Thursday. It’s Spanish literature, which should be okay. We’ve been reading Chronicle of a Death Foretold and fortunately we’ve also been shown the film so I’ve got the gist of the story without having to be too sharp on the old Spick lingo. Then it’s the first English Lit on Monday and then an exam every day that week. Uni application deadline is Friday and Hargreaves has to sign mine off before then so it’s anything but the season to be jolly. They should be paying us not the bloody other way round.

Two Down

To fail your driving test once may be regarded as a misfortune, to fail twice looks like carelessness.. Well that’s all wrong. I would have to have my driving test on possibly the wettest day since Noah said to his wife “I think the worst of it’s over, dear”. I challenge anyone to do an emergency stop on what is effectively an ice rink and come to a graceful and considered halt in a neat, straight line. It is a physical impossibility and yet there was the big black mark on the score sheet and there was the bad end to my second driving test. A different man (marginally), the same test centre. Everything else had gone so swimmingly. I am bloody furious. I was so speechless I didn’t have the capacity to complain about the result before the bespectacled geek left the car. How am I ever going to live this down?? I confessed my news to Ralph when I got back just now. He couldn’t suppress a smile even though he’d promised to be wholly understanding. Bastard.

On the plus side I still haven’t had a phone call from home which means (God willing) that there has been no engagement to announce. That said I haven’t been in the boarding house since first thing this morning. I need a bloody good drink to be honest. I shall definitely be down the JCR tonight. Ralph has promised me his second pint so at least I can get vaguely squiffy to help me cope with the galling disappointment. When is my life going to start going right?!

Oh there is one good thing. Zoe said she might be having a party at her folks' house at the beginning of the Christmas hols. She went quite coy when she was talking to me about it. I can only take that as a good thing. To be honest it’s never happened before..

Pub Disaster

I haven’t been able to bring myself to ring home today. I thought I might have had a call from them, following on from Sal and Ian going there for lunch but so far there has been nothing. Talk about no news is good news.. Long may it continue.

Very boring day here. I’d finished the Mail on Sunday by 1 o’clock and headed over to the dining hall with Henry and John Simms for a roast. Absolute pig feed. I think it was supposed to be beef but it was essentially gristle and tube accompanied by potatoes that weren’t so much roasted as lightly suntanned and carrots that had been so ferociously boiled there wasn’t a scrap of flavour, texture or presumably nutrient left in them. I really wonder what poor old Dad is paying for sometimes.

Worse still Ralph and I pretended to go for a cross country run this afternoon. He’d never been out on a Sunday and it seemed madness as it was the perfect opportunity to sink a few pints. We got dressed in the appropriate gear but obviously didn’t break a sweat on our way out there. We were just about to head through the door when I heard the not so dulcet tones of Mr Jeeves guffawing from within. Thank Christ I was able to stop Ralph pushing the door open or we’d have been mincemeat had he seen us. Bloody gutted that we’ve discovered he frequents the place as it means it’s going to make our trips there a hell of lot more nerve-wracking than we’d previously thought they might be.

Psyching myself up for driving test number two now. Fortunately I don’t have to re-sit the ridiculously banal theory exam. To be frank they really could do with making that bit a damn sight harder. Then there might not be so many ghastly twits on the road. Fat chance..

Snog Tactics

Dad phoned after morning lessons. He wanted to know why the school have billed him for a second driving test so I had to spill the beans about the disastrous events of the other week. He seemed to understand and totally took my side of course. Smashing chap, Dad.. I asked to speak to mother but he rather nervously informed me that she wasn't around. Not sure why but I found his silence rather disconcerting. The more I think about it the more buggered up things seem to be at home. Really is rather a concern. Frankly I'm glad to be here. Oh and he also let slip that Sal AND Ian are heading over for lunch with Dad and mother tomorrow. He reckons Ian might do the whole "could I have your daughter's hand in marriage" nonsense. Bloody ghastly. I hope he does the decent thing and forbids the whole damn shenanigans. To be honest I'm surprised Sal is giving marriage to Ian more than a second thought. With her spending habits she needs to end up with someone with bucket loads of inheritance on the horizon. Not someone who's parents have only got one car (and a Vauxhall Cavalier at that) and who live semi-detached.

Nothing dramatic occured with Zoe last night. But the charm offensive appears to be doing the trick. She definitely touched my hand for at least four seconds last night when we were walking back to her boarding house. I reckon two or three more evenings in the JCR and we'll be at full snoggage capacity. Result!

Sanghita Masgeev farted in English this morning. At least Ralph and I are fairly sure it was her as it smelt like curry. She's allowed to go out and get her own Indian dinner whenever she feels like it, apparently due to religious beliefs. What a load of bollocks.

Smelly Socks

Got back from assembly this morning to find that matron was in my study with a bag of dirty socks and an angry look on her face. Apparently I’ve been “hoarding” my clothes and not sending them to the laundry. I tried to point out that every time I did send my socks to the school laundry they never came back, despite mother spending a large chunk of her lifetime sewing in name tags to each one. Matron evidently thought I was making up lies and said that if I didn’t use the school facilities then I would incur a 50p fine for every dirty sock the cleaners continued to find under my bed. Bloody ridiculous. If I want to keep my socks in my study and wash them in the sink under my own steam then why the Hell shouldn’t I be able to?? Bloody farce, it really is.

So the plan is to go to the JCR again this evening and spend as much time in Zoe’s company as possible. I’m hideously nervous about it to be honest but Ralph’s told me I’ve got to take the bull by the horns and make a move (preferably a vaguely sober one) or I’ll spend the rest of my life a lonely virgin. I think he might be exaggerating slightly, but I can see where he’s coming from. Urgh, I feel quite sick about it I really do. What if she spurns me in a really public way? Girls are so tricksy. She might give me the come-on for a joke and then when I go in for the lunge she’ll just pull away and laugh. I can see it now. Oh God, I’m going to die alone. I just know it. Hopefully I’ll feel a little more confident with a couple of Newquay Browns inside me..

Stale Biscuits

Went to visit an old lady this afternoon with Julia Wilson. You know, to add to my list of good deeds when I go for uni interviews. It was weird. Julia's really good with talking to old people so she kind of led the conversation, such as it was. I just sort of sat there. The woman was called Elspeth. I was glad that she didn't ask to be called Elsie. It's so working class war heroine. I was expecting her to be living in one of those God awful pre-fab places on the outskirts of town but in fact she has quite a picturesque little cottage near Falpham. Roses round the door and all that gubbins. In spite of all that her Ginger nuts were stale and the living room had a distinctly pissy odour but I guess some things about old age are set in stone and you can't change them no matter how well off you are.. She asked what I was studying for A-levels and where I was hoping to go to uni. I wasn't about to tell her Roehampton. She wouldn't have heard of it and I don't really want Julia Wilson telling everyone I'm not an Oxbridge candidate. So I said that I was going to see some London colleges and she seemed impressed enough with that. She did bang on a bit about how things were so much better in her day but she wasn't a complete bore so visiting her on a weekly basis might not actually be such a ghastly chore as a I thought it would.

Everything went rather swimmingly in the JCR last night. Zoe was there, as hoped, and she seemed suitably impressed that I had gone out of my way to organise a sympathy card for Colin. I reckon Ralph might just be a bit of a genius. She asked if I was planning another supper leave and she seemed genuinely gutted when I told her I was banned til the new year. Need to figure out how to stage a snog next...

Sticky Fingers

Spoke to Ralph about the Zoe situation this afternoon. He thinks I'm playing it far too cool and taking the whole thing far too slow. He reckons I should start the process as soon as possible. He's probably right. Ralph's quite good at the whole girl business. Whenever he sets his mind to someone he's usually got his hand down their knickers inside of 48 hours. It's a gift for some people I suppose. I certainly haven't got it. I feel so jumpy when it looks like sex might be on the horizon I think I put them off. In fact long before sex. I shoot myself in the foot from the off sometimes. Once I wrote to a family friend. She was called Sara (no 'h') and she was great. Funny, pretty, just a bit younger than me. I wrote her this letter about three years ago asking if she would be my girfriend. Letters are great. No confrontation.

Anyway, she wrote back about a week later and said that sounded fun and yes she would be my girlfriend. Brilliant. I told everyone at school. I bragged that after half term I was probably going to be a pro at the whole copulation game. It didn't work out like that. She called on the Sunday afternoon. Dad answered and said Sara was on the phone. I panicked and made him tell her I was in bed, ill. I don't suppose she bought it but I never saw again. I wrote her another letter telling her I'd met someone else. Sounds ridiculous now. But she just wasn't the right one. Not like Zoe. She'll do just nicely but I need to get my arse in gear sharpish. I'm going to take Colin's sympathy card to the JCR after prep and get loads of people to sign it. Starting with Zoe herself..

Sympathy Card

Colin Weston's mum went into hospital last night. Hargreaves got us into his flat and told us that she had taken a fall at home. Lost consciousness at the top of the stairs and broken her pelvis in the tumble. Actually felt quite sorry for Colin this time. His uncle arrived and took him off. Not sure what that means for his A-levels. He'll definitely get special consideration now though. Anyway, Hargreaves wants me to pack some of his things together and then get everyone to sign a card. Why does he pick me to do these things? Just because I'm not in the first XV rugby team or something he thinks I've got
time on my hands. I guess it's not so bad. It'll make me look like a good guy in Zoe Hall's eyes.

I've decided she's going to be the one I make a go of it with. There's definitely something there. I was looking at her in economics and she's really not too shabby at all. Long golden hair, good skin. She's not one of those ghastly brassy types like Polly Ravenscoft who wears far too much slap. Terribly cheap in my book. Okay so she's got a few extra rolls here and there but you need something to grab hold of don't you..

If only there was a way we could be out drinking together but with no supper leaves for me this term that looks less than likely. There MUST be something I can do. Will get Ralph's advice on the situation when we have another cross country adventure. Right, I'm going to do this uni application today if it bloody kills me. There's so much to fill out. The most galling thing is the knowledge that everyone else my age is doing it - even common people. It's all wrong...

Christian Postcard

Alex got a postcard from Mark C this morning. He’s completed his second week at his Christian retreat in Arizona. He sounds like he’s been utterly brainwashed the poor old chump. Banging on about Jesus showing him the error of his ways.. What error? Someone planted the charlie on him for God’s sake. Keep meaning to try and find out who it was actually. I bet Henry knows. Must make more of an effort with him. Try and act a bit cooler that sort of thing.

Going on another cross country expedition with Ralph and a couple of others a bit later on. I’ve been charged with bringing the smokes. Apparently there’s a garage on the way where I’ll be able to pick some up. The teachers seem to have a hotline to every tobacco shop in town so now we have to travel a bit further. I would try the guy on West Street but I’m still worried that he’ll think I squealed on him after the supper leave debacle. Anyway it should be a bloody good laugh. Then this evening it’s choral society, part one. Apparently we’re singing a requiem..? Mozart or something. Sounds good and more importantly looks good on the old application form. Also, Juliet Wilson’s letting me go with her to see her old biddy on Thursday so things are looking up. I think even Hargreaves is reasonably impressed.

Spanish oral was a nightmare though.. Some friend of Mrs Sanchez came in – another spick – and started asking about road building programmes on the outskirts of Barcelona! When the hell am I ever going to need to know that sort of lingo?? All I want is to be able to order beer and get home in a cab when I’m ratarsed. Expect I’ve failed but really don’t care. It’s only mocks..

Good Food

Bad news. Sal actually used the phrase “He’s the one” about Ian. What a bloody disaster. She said they’ve basically agreed to get married and Ian is going to propose just before Christmas. I don’t get it. I thought a proposal was supposed to be a surprise. Like you’re in some restaurant with romantic lighting and the man suddenly pulls out a flashy ring and gets down on one knee and the woman is all “Oh my goodness, I had no idea”. Not any more it seems. What a sham. I hope she isn’t up the bloody duff as well. Christ knows what their poor kids will look like. Ian really isn’t blessed. Not unless you think having a scouring pad for hair is a good thing. Oh God please let me be away on my gap year when they actually go ahead and tie the knot. They I can graciously turn down the invite. It will be SO dreadful if his parents have a say in any of it..

On the plus side Sal let me drive her car on the country lanes after lunch. And she took me to Chez Marc. We actually had quite a nice day all in all. Though she wouldn’t let me take Ralph along. She said she wanted to discuss private family business. What a lot of nonsense. All she did was witter on again about she’s convinced Mother’s been seeing Derek Barnscroft. If you saw this man you’d think it was a miracle anyone had married him in the first place, let alone that he might be able to woo other married women into his bed. God the thought of it makes me want to heave. We had to agree to disagree in the end. Well, she told me I was too young to understand which of course was infuriating but I just bit my tongue on this occasion and smiled.

We’ve got a practice Spanish oral in the morning. FUCK!

New Date

I’ve been sent a new date for my driving test. It’s two weeks on Monday. Didn’t realise it could happen so fast. I really need some more lessons before then or it might all go tits up again. Though obviously last time wasn’t my fault.. Shit, what if I get the same examiner? Maybe I can request a different one. Must look into getting that sorted.. Sal should be able to take me out this afternoon after lunch. It’s the least she can do.

Stayed up until 3:15 this morning chatting to Miles Evans. We used to be really good friends. We spent loads of time together in the 3^rd and 4^th year and then he starting hanging out with Henry the whole time. Must have known he was a good bet to be head of house and stuck to him like glue. Now Miles is deputy head and I’m wearing the same tie I arrived with nearly five years ago. Who wants to be a prefect anyway? What a load of hassle, even if it does beef up your uni application form. Oh, speaking of which, I’ve registered with the choral society so that’s going on all my paperwork from now on. In fact I can probably leave as soon as Hargreaves signs it and I’ve sent it all off. Might start making some more stuff up too. Juliet Wilson visits old people every Thursday afternoon. If I show that I’m a really caring sort that’s bound to help my chances. I’ve decided to apply to Roehampton after all. Hargreaves insists it’s my best shot, though there’s no WAY I’m going to live at home if I get in. I’ll have to tell Dad and Mother that you HAVE to live in halls for the first year or something. They’ve never been to university – what do they know?

Visiting Sibling

Hargreaves pulled me into his study this morning and told me that Sal’s coming to visit this weekend. Odd that he should inform me. It all sounded very mysterious. He had the look of someone telling me that I was terminally ill. I hope Sal hasn’t been on the phone to him, telling him all sorts of nonsense about Mother. For some reason old Hargreaves loves my sister. I remember his eyes almost popping out of his head when he first clapped eyes on her, the dirty old bugger. He couldn’t take his eyes off her chest. Ruddy perv..

Anyway I guess it’ll mean some free nosh for me. I might suggest she takes me to Chez Marc for lunch. Next best thing to a supper leave I suppose. Might ask Ralph if he fancies coming along too. I hope she doesn’t bring that knob Ian. I was hoping he might have dumped her by now but he still seems to be hanging around like bad smell. Dad said he reckons he might even propose. He said that when they went round there the day Mother first disappeared there was a moment when he and Ian were alone in the drawing room. He said Ian was really fidgety like he wanted to ask Dad something dramatic. The thought of it creeps me out. His family are horribly common. His mother volunteers in The Spastic Society for Christ’s sake. It might not even be called that anymore but still. I don’t see what’s wrong with the word ‘spastic’. It’s quite onomatopoeic I think. Glad I managed to work that word into my diary. It makes me seem very pseud..

Hargreaves has asked us in for beers again tonight. Bring it on! No Wendell this week. Wise move Hargreaves. Wise move..

Odd Dream

Had a very strange dream last night. I was sitting under an apple tree in the middle of a huge orchard. I was reading One Hundred Year of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Suddenly my pockets started to vibrate. I felt inside them and pulled out two mobile phones. One said that Jesus was calling, the other just said ‘Elephant’. For some reason I was more drawn to this one and I answered the call. It was Edwina Curry telling me not to eat the eggs in the birthday cake. Suddenly I blinked and I was in the middle of supermarket aisle. Everyone was gathered around a table and the manager of the store was wearing a party hat and blowing a small trumpet. It was evidently his birthday and an old lady was pushing a shopping trolley towards him. Inside the trolley was a multi-tiered birthday cake. I realised I had to act and threw myself at the trolley, pushing it, and the old woman into a row of shelves stacked with baked beans. As I was pushing her, the woman screamed and grew a trunk like an elephant. Then she burst open and loads of blood came out. When I turned around there was just Jesus standing in front of me. He was telling me I should have answered his call, then he handed me an apple which, as I was about to take a bite, suddenly grew a face and screamed “Ayudarme!”, which I believe is Spanish for “Help me!”. Then I woke up. Weird..

I’ve been filling out my application form for university this afternoon and seem to be stuck at hobbies. Obviously I’ve written swimming and cross country running but everyone else does extra activities. I think I need to take up something like singing. I think being in a choir would demonstrate that I’m a nice human being..

Intact Cherries

Really starting to panic about not losing my virginity before Christmas now. Lindsay Joyner totally ignored me in Spanish this morning. It’s just not going to happen. I need to move on. Sometimes you need to accept these things. If she’s not into Robin Greaves who most of the girls think is the biggest stud in school, then it’s not going to happen with me. But then who? Zoe Hall has basically said she’s not interested, though I think she might have just been SAYING that in case I said it first. I might have to go back there. She let me touch her boob after all. Okay so she was drunk but people say your real self comes out when you’re drunk. So in fact she’s clearly desperate for me if you think about it for long enough. I don’t think I could bring myself to go with anyone below the level of Zoe Hall. Henry’s had a blowjob off Annabelle Grimes but that’s just too disturbing for words. Plus if she gives me one then it’s like I’m being a massive bender with Henry. God, love is such a complicated thing..

Li Hin was caught wanking again. This time in the changing rooms at the sports ground. Hargreaves had to have a word with him. Christ knows what went on in the study but by the time Li came out Hargreaves looked worse off than old slitty eyes. I wonder what was said. Oh to be a fly on the wall in that room. It must have seen some pretty eye opening conversations. Not least the time that Giles Edwards was questioned for the dramatic increase in erection inspections he was carrying out on the 3^rd years. Fuck knows what became of him. Here’s hoping he hasn’t become a primary school teacher…

Working Class Beer

I think I might be a little bit drunk. Or possibly a lot. Ralph and I went off piste on cross country this afternoon. Christ, am so gutted I've been missing out on this for the last year. The pub we went to is bloody incredible and is run by this legendary old guffer who still respects the fact that he's working class and therefore we are better than him. He even doffed his cap when we came in. Ralph plays it brilliantly. All "get us a couple of pints my good man". We got through six (3 each) but it was bloody strong stuff. The fresh air on the brisk walk back to the boarding house helped slightly but I'm fairly sure Hargreaves could smell a waft of stale ale on my breath. Arsing typical that he was standing in the hall as I crashed through the front door. I don't suppose he minds. It's not as if he actively discourages us from drinking. Quite the reverse..

So Mother disappeared for two days. We think. Basically when Dad came down to breakfast yesterday morning she was already there, fully dressed and apparently not talking much sense. The old man wouldn't elaborate much more than that. I think he thinks he's protecting me from some sort of shameful truth. I'm sure whatever it is it's not that bad or he'd be having her committed or some such.. God, I hate the way they still treat me like a child just cos I'm the youngest. I'm 17 for God's sake! I'm ten times more mature than my so-called grown up sister.

Slab asked to see me earlier. He showed me a prospectus of Roehampton. It looks quite nice actually. It's in London though which means I’d probably have to live at home which would be a fucking disaster so that rules that out. Then he had the bloody audacity to ask if I'd thought about former polytechnics. Polytechnics! What does he think I am, retarded??

Harrison Tumble

Assembly this morning was LEDGE! It all kicked off between George and Becky after the Rosie Incident came bubbling to the surface during supper leave on Saturday night. Apparently George has been incredibly dense and totally ignored Rosie to the point that Becky was getting suspicious so she idly asked the lower sixths in her house what had happened. Don’t know who blabbed but someone did and told Becky the whole thing. She waited until they were in Chez Marc, about to eat desert. She ordered a rice pudding and tipped the whole thing on his head, followed by a glass of red wine.

But that was nothing compared to this morning. She waited at the top of the steps outside Harrison Hall and when Rosie came out she pushed her! All the way to the bottom!! Bloody lucky she wasn’t killed. Fortunately she was just ruddy pissed off and the pair of them ended up rolling around on the grass in front of Lodge House. It was like something out of lesbo 70s porn flick. All us lads were cheering them on as they tore shreds off each other. Just unbelievable. George is a bloody hero of course. And who can blame him? Naturally old Roper wants a full explanation of what went on but what can he do? All the alleged deviance occurred on half term so they didn’t break any rules. Well, apart from fighting on school property of course. Just bloody CLASSIC! This term is turning into a legendary one.

Spoke to Hargreaves about my Uni choices last night. He thinks I should apply to something called the Roehampton Institute! What the FUCK??! Sounds like somewhere they put mental people. More likely to find my mother in there than you are me. Speaking of which I really must call Dad.

Bad Chairs

Christ, Sundays at this place are like a slow death. Absolutely bugger all to do. Got back from Matins about an hour and a half ago and have already read the Mail on Sunday from cover to cover. There seems to be F all going on in the outside world too. Haven’t been able to speak to Dad yet. Realised that if Wendell did mention anything to Hargreaves and he chose to follow up with the old boy then at least there’d be an element of truth in my fabrications. Though I don’t really want my housemaster knowing what a bloody liability my mother’s turned into of late. Must be something to do with the menopause. She should really go ahead and have everything whipped out. Maybe that would put an end to all this attention seeking nonsense..

Half the year were out on supper leave last night so my punishment really stung, cooped up here with a bunch of pre-pubescents. At least I was able to command the best seat in the TV room. That’s not saying much. Every chair in there is an outcast from a 1970s doctor’s waiting room. You’ve got to have a bloody fat arse to get even remotely comfortable so Guy Williams was about the only person who could actually enjoy watching Back To The Future Part III for the nine hundredth time. I started playing ping pong with Luke Morse for the last half hour, just to piss everyone else off really. Ah, the joys of being in the upper sixth. You can be an utter bastard to anyone younger than you and it’s never questioned. Remarkable.

Ought to crack on with some revision I suppose. Mocks begin at the end of next week. And Uni applications have to be in by December too. It seems having a cavalier attitude to all things in life isn’t necessarily the best approach at all times. Bummer.

Sloe Gin

Mother’s gone missing. Well, I say she’s gone missing. Basically Dad hasn’t seen her since she went to visit Grannie H yesterday afternoon. That’s where she said she was going at any rate. Grannie H swears blind that Mother never turned up but she quite often also swears blind that it’s 1969 and Des O’Connor is about to propose marriage so no one knows what to think. All this info has come from Sal by the way. She phoned again this morning when I got back from morning lessons. She’s decided that Mother’s having an affair with Derek Barnscroft from the next road. Christ knows where she’s got that from but she’s insisting she witnessed “obvious chemistry” between them at last year’s parish Christmas sherry and mince pie morning. When I suggested she go round to Derek’s house and ask if Mother was there she said I was being confrontational.

To be honest I think it’s all probably a lot more mundane than Sally’s painting it. Mother isn’t nearly colourful enough to have an affair. Unfortunately it’s rather more likely that she’s had a few too many gins, decided to go for a drive, got lost and had to pull over in Chislehurst woods to sleep off an early hangover on the back seat. The exact same thing happened at Easter but Dad said we should keep it from Sal cos she’d only worry. I knew full well that he meant that Sal would totally overreact and start announcing to all and sundry that she was from a damaged family. I’ll give the old man a ring later and see if there’s an update but I’m not going to make a bloody song and dance about it.

Drinks last night were excellent. Wendell got smashed on Hargreaves’ sloe gin and passed out in the bathroom. We all got sent to our studies but we congregated in Henry’s room and watched our poor housemaster drag Wendell, half unconscious, across the yard outside to his lodgings. Don’t think he’ll be invited back in a hurry. Bloody teachers. They’re a liability..

Double Country

Just back from first cross-country run. Bloody horrendous. My hands are so cold I can’t actually do up the buttons on my shirt so not sure how I’m going to be able to attend classes this afternoon. Might just have to give them a miss. Not particularly in the mood for double Othello anyway. For some reason Mrs Simms has decided that when we read it out the girls should read the boys parts and the boys should read the girls. Some sick mind game of her invention no doubt. She’s such an oddball. I think she self-harms. The other day she put her leg up on the desk and scratched her kneecap so violently that she drew blood through her tights. Annabelle Grimes was almost sick. Simms barely noticed. That’s not natural surely..?

Ralph assures me that normally the whole cross country experience is a lot more enjoyable. Unfortunately Slab Jennings (the demon sportsmaster) decided to lead the run this time so there was no shirking off and disappearing into the pub for a few ales. We were going for over an hour. I think I understand what shin splints feel like now. I’ll give it another go next week without staff intervention and see how it goes.

House drinks in Hargreaves flat for the upper sixths tonight. Bring on the beer! I think he’s inviting Mr Wendell to join us tonight. Slightly bricking it that they’ll start discussing my embellished tales of dysfunctional families. If they do I’ll just have to see if I can cry again. Should be easier with a few drinks inside me. Failing that I’ll have to hope that Dominic Lafferty gets so drunk he goes into one of his rages and starts slamming doors and raging against the elitist nature of public school hierarchy. Bloody ginger tosser.

Ham Fag

What an extremely dull day. Mr Wendell held me back at the end of Spanish. He said I wasn’t taking classes seriously enough. Bastard. Just cos I only got 53% in the test last week he’s already decided I want to fail my A-levels. What a bloody farce. I tried to explain that I was worried about the situation at home during half term. Think mother might be an alcoholic, blah blah.. I did my best to turn on the waterworks but couldn’t squeeze out any tears. Still, I think he bought it, though now I’m worried he’s going to tell Hargreaves and Hargreaves is going to speak to Dad. That would be a major shitter.

Apparently Sal called last night. I was in the TV room so didn’t get the message. Arsing lazy juniors only checked my study rather than looking for me throughout the whole boarding house. Standards are slipping. If I’d been that remiss when I was a junior I’d have been on milk fag for a week. I need to call her back anyway. Hopefully she can throw some light on what is actually going on at home. Something’s up, that’s for sure. Parentals haven’t even been in touch to find out about the driving test, though I’m in no rush to tell them..

Alex Dudley slipped on some parma ham at lunch. Now THAT was funny. Ed Humphreys had sent him to the kitchens (Alex Dudley will do whatever Ed tells him – it’s quite weird) to re-fill the orange squash. Dudley failed to notice that Annabelle Grimes had overloaded her plate (again) and half of it had fallen on the floor so he went arse over tit in front of the masters’ table, covering himself in squash to boot. The whole room erupted and Dudley went puce with shame. What a knob! CLASSIC!

Vintage Logs

Zoe came round to the boarding house last night. She wanted to talk about what happened on Saturday night. She said she hadn’t been thinking straight and she hoped I didn’t think she was leading me on. What the FUCK?? She was the one that practically forced my hand onto her boob. I was holding out for Lindsay Joyner for God’s sake. Now Zoe’s screwed that up. I know what girls are like – always talking about boys and what they’ve been up to. Now Lindsay’s going to think I’m in love with Zoe and Zoe’s going to make out that she’s never been interested and I’m just some desperate tit grabbing loser. What a bloody mess. She basically raped me. Of course I was massively cool about it and told her there was no problem.

When she left Henry came into my study desperate to know what had gone on, being all pally. What a sham. He’s just after more dirt for his house notes. If he wasn’t such a power crazed freak maybe he’d have the confidence of more people and wouldn’t be finding the whole task such a struggle. I changed the subject to the massive log someone left in the guest toilet under the stairs. It’s about the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s forearm and has been there so long it’s now started to go white around the edges like a dog poo from the 1970s. I don’t know how we’re ever going to find out who did it unless there is some sort of medical inspection in the house for someone with a stretchy enough bumhole. Dr Cleaver would doubtless be only too willing to carry out such an inspection, the dirty perv. He’s the sort of doctor who likes to diagnose all manner of illnesses by cupping one’s nuts.

Ralph’s here. Signing off.

How Not To Pass A Driving Test

So my life is officially over. Yesterday did not go well. It started brilliantly of course. I sat quite happily in the waiting room at the driving test centre. I had fully evacuated my bowels half an hour earlier and felt at one with myself. A curious little man called Leonard called my name and we went out to the car park where I read a distant number plate with amazing accuracy. Even Leonard looked impressed. It was going to go well.

We proceeded to the Nissan Micra that was to be my test vehicle. On entering the car I made sure he watched as I adjusted the mirrors and buckled up securely. “When you are ready, please start the engine” he said, in a thin, working class Maidstone accent. The engine fired up as I turned the key and looked at Leonard, awaiting further instruction. “Please proceed to the car park exit and turn left onto the main road”.

Now here’s the thing. I’m not a risk taker. Never have been. The most adventurous thing I’ve ever done is slide down the stairs in a sleeping bag and that took five nightmare ridden sleeps to get over, so I’m not one to gamble with my safety. It was with a great deal of fore-thought, then, that I decided to pull into the road from the car park. Yes, there was a post office van heading in my direction but it was AT LEAST one hundred yards away. Leonard didn’t agree. He emitted a surprising roar of angst as I turned onto the high street, quickly followed by the words “What the HELL are you doing??!”

The jig was up. I indicated left and pulled over at the kerb before switching off the engine. I could feel my pulse racing. A vein I’d never been aware of before seemed fit to burst out of my forehead. “Get the fuck out of the car”. I heard the words. I just didn’t realise it was me who had said them. Poor Leonard looked rather shocked for a few seconds. Then he quietly placed an “X” in the FAIL box on my test sheet and said quietly, “I have to inform you that you have not passed the test on this occasion”. He peeled off the sheet of paper and handed it to me, before getting out of the car.

One day I might find this whole incident amusing, but right now I am trying to find a way of convincing everyone that it was all Leonard’s fault..

D-Day

Two hours til my driving test!!! I take back everything I said about OD-ing if I don’t pass first time. The fact that I am STILL massively hung over from Saturday night is probably the biggest hurdle I will have to overcome and certainly isn’t something I planned. I’ll be lucky if I stay on the left side of the road at this rate..

Matron’s roses have noticeably wilted today. Typical that we haven’t had any rain since I vommed all over them. There is a definite odour of mild curry and apple cider outside my window. Not impressed with myself although everyone else seems to think I’m a bit of a ledge. Abby MacKenzie’s in hospital with appendicitis (probably just trying to out-do me) so there’s a big Get Well Soon card doing the rounds. Polly Wilkes is in charge of it. Christ, could she suck up to Abby any more? Doesn’t she realise we’re in the upper sixth already? It’s too late to try and earn prefect points now. Bloody do-gooders..

Hargreaves tried to take the piss as I was leaving the house for assembly this morning. He suggested I might want to take a bucket with me. Ha-bloody-ha.. On a more serious note I’m worried that I have inadvertently got the bloke at the corner shop arrested for selling alcohol to minors after I blabbed where we’d bought the cider. I was under duress, not to mention that I seriously thought I was at death’s door when I saw the colour of what was coming out of my mouth, so I really shouldn’t get the blame. I might say it was Colin Weston who told. He knew about it AND he’s much more likely to be a snitch than I am. He needs reminding of the fact that he's a complete scrote, potential orphan or otherwise..

Boob Touching

I’m a wreck. Last night started well enough. Zoe Hall looked bloody gorgeous when she turned up at the Indian and she sat next to me, which was a complete result. I didn’t even find the food that ghastly although to be honest I didn’t eat that much of it. Brings me out in sweats. I did, however, fail to hold back on the wine intake and polished off the best part of two bottles. You know what girls a like – bloody lightweights when it comes to booze consumption. Hopeless.

After dinner Zoe convinced us that we should buy some gyppo cider from the offie on the corner of West Street. The guy in there will do anything if you bung him an extra fiver so we clubbed together and invested in four litres of White Lightning. Bloody lethal. We took ourselves down to the park by the A-Road and polished the lot off between the six of us within 45 minutes. Managed to get a bit of time alone with Zoe on the way back. She let me touch her left breast through her sports vest. It was heavenly. But she wouldn’t even snog me, the frigid cow. I’m so dissing her for the rest of term.

By the time we got back to the boarding house I thought I was going to die. My head was spinning but I thought I could save myself from mortal embarrassment by just getting to my study and turning out the lights. Unfortunately it wasn’t to be and I threw my guts up out the window just as Mr Jameson was walking past with his dog Trixie. Poor old Matron’s roses ended up covered in diced carrot and I’ve got to write her a letter of apology. Hargreaves has also banned me from further supper leaves til the new year. Bastard. Still touched tit though so not all bad..

Bad Smells

Just got back from swimming. Bloody exhausted. Absolutely no fun at all. Have decided I might do cross-country next term. Ralph swears by it. When I say cross-country I of course mean heading out of town to a remote pub and getting tanked up on beers and smoking til the point of debilitating nausea. Don’t know why I didn’t think about switching years ago. My quest for a swimmers’ body has resulted in little more than broad shoulders and wrinkly hands. Not that I’m going to have much time for sports from next term. Can’t believe it’s something horrendous like six months til I’ll be sitting in the assembly hall taking my A-level exams. I’m bound to do bloody well of course. I’ll be the first person in my family to do A-levels. Can’t believe I come from such a bunch of thickos.

Need to head into town now. Want to buy a new shirt for tonight. Something that Lindsay Joyner will find irresistible. Ralph reckons we should phone a bomb threat into Chez Marc. Classic idea! Ruining Abby MacKenzie’s night would make my week! Really ought to get some decent aftershave too. Mother packed me off with a bottle of something God awful called Mandate. I think it’s Boots own brand. Shamefully common. When I get round to it I’ll stick it in one of the junior’s lockers and then organise a massive piss-take. Mandate – for Christ’s sake..!

Toby’s being a total bastard about being back in the boarding house before 11 tonight. Just cos he’s not going out he has to take it out on the rest of us. How he became head of house is beyond me. He’s such a bloody square. What sort of respect is he going to demand when the most adventurous thing he’s even done is wear brown socks instead of grey.

Shoe Poo

I think I might have to disown my sister. She is now not coming down this weekend, which means no last minute driving practice. Basically if I fail my test on Monday it’s all her fault. I can’t believe she has chosen her stupid bloody boyfriend’s mother’s birthday over me. That relationship will end in tatters as they always do and then she’ll be left with no boyfriend and no brother. She’ll be sorry. God, I can’t believe we’re related. What a bitch.

Yesterday afternoon was a CLASSIC. I had a bit of a work to do for economics final period so I signed up to do textiles for my afternoon activity. Figured I could sit in the corner pretending to sketch some elaborate fabric design while I was actually finishing my essay. Anyway Mrs Livingston was about to go spastic at me when Luke Myers walked in. Wouldn’t have been a significant distraction if he hadn’t had dog shit all over his shoes. He’s such a retard he hadn’t noticed that he was treading it all over the printed fabrics that were laid out on the floor drying off. Everyone was in bloody hysterics except Luke who cried for Christ’s sake! Even Livingston couldn’t suppress a little smile. She’s SO the fittest teacher here by the way. God knows what she sees in her primordial dwarf husband. Maybe he’s got a massive schlong. What a hideous thought.. Anyway, she disbanded the class after that so we were free to go back to our studies where I was able to finish my work – RESULT! I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

Matron tried to bust me for bunking off when she found me in my study. Like it’s any of her concern anyway. She reeked of fags again, the old crone. Can’t think why she doesn’t like me. I’m so bloody nice to her..