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..

Cardamom

We’re going to the posh Indian restaurant on Saturday night. No Lindsay Joyner but Zoe Hall’s going and she’s not too shabby so might do for a reserve if we don’t track down Joyner on the night. I’m not that keen on Indian food and Ralph knows that, bloody knob. They always put nasty surprises in like cardamom pods. Biting into one of those is like eating your grandmother’s hand soap and really should be avoided at all costs. Bloody foreigners.. Abby MacKenzie’s going to Chez Marc with her lot. How the fuck did that happen?

George totally dissed Rosie after assembly this morning. He was walking with Becky and basically completely blanked Rosie when she tried to start up a conversation. He’s playing a dangerous game. There’s no way all that shit’s not going to come out in the wash. Hopefully on Saturday night in the JCR. CLASSIC!

I heard Colin Weston crying in his study last night. He’s next door to me and was obviously trying to make sure someone heard him. There was no way I was going to go in there and see him though. That would be SO homo. Thought about telling Matron but then just decided to turn up Pink Floyd on my headphones and play dumb. Must be hard for him but I’m buggered if I’m going to risk looking like a mincer just to make him feel better. He really shouldn’t be here at all. If Mother was about to pop her clogs I’d be making the most of it and taking some time out to get as much sympathy as possible. Some people just don’t have a bloody clue..

Speaking of Mother, I’d better try and give Sal a call. She’s promised to come down this weekend and let me drive her car. My test is on arsing Monday morning. Starting to seriously brick it now..

Chinese Horror

Am still reeling from the shock of catching Li-Hin masturbating in the communal showers last night, the dirty bastard. What the bloody hell was he thinking?? At least I now know that Chinese blokes have tiny knobs. He didn’t even look bothered when I saw him. He just stood there with a bizarre half smile on his face. Maybe it’s normal behaviour in Hong Kong. Of course I went straight to Henry and told him so it can be put in the house notes at the end of term. Hopefully he’ll feel suitably shamed when the whole school knows about it.

Something has to be done about the state of the breakfasts here. The tea in the urn was stewed to buggery by the time I got there at 7:25. It’s a bloody joke. And as for the scrambled eggs; Christ knows what they make it from but it’s definitely not eggs. By the time first break came this morning my stomach was making some damn weird noises. Luckily Susie Blackwell was up for making all the lads some toast. She’s a good girl, shame she’s such a bloody heifer or I might try and go there. That and the fact that she’s from a complete povvo family. They can’t afford the boarding fees so she commutes 60 miles a day. Must be perfectly ghastly for her. She said she might have a party in the Christmas hols as her folks are going up North or something awful. I stopped listening after a while. She does witter on but a party might be quite a good laugh. Her house would end up getting royally trashed but that’s her look-out. Not that it’s probably that nice anyway.

Must go and get a supper leave update from Ralph now. Hope he gets us a decent restaurant booking. If we’re in the fucking Beefeater again I’ll kill him.

Short Hair

Hargreaves came into my study at 7:15 this morning - bloody weirdo. He wanted to tell me that my haircut was "inappropriate" and that I really should think about doing something about it. I asked him exactly what he had in mind. Perhaps a wig? He didn't see the funny side and just shook his head in a world weary manner and sort of hissed. I'm not quite sure whether that is an end to the matter or whether he really does expect me to invent some way of making my hair grow back extremely quickly. He really is an oddball of the highest order. Having said that, he's a damn sight better than Bodger Rogerson, the previous housemaster. He was more of a lush than Mother and his wife used to cry at the slightest provocation. It also turned out that he was stealing money from the house petty cash so he had to go.

Anyway, the Spanish test wasn't a complete disaster. I shan't know the score for while but I'm pretty confident I knew what I was doing. I was also encouraged by the look of abject horror on Roger Myerson's face when he turned over his paper. He'd clearly done even less preparation than me. Don't care if I come top of the class, just as long as I'm not at the bottom I'll be pleased enough.

Ralph's organising a supper leave this weekend. Should be a bloody good laugh if we manage to get everyone together who we want. I mentioned that he could invite Lindsay Joyner but he just laughed. He reckons I haven't got a hope with her but I'm damned if I'm not even going to bloody try. If she's not there for supper I can always track her down in the JCR afterwards and take advantage of her inebriated state - EXCELLENT!

Be Kind

So apparently Mark C won’t be back at school until the new year!! As predicted his mum went apeshit when the police told her they’d found coke in her son’s bag and she’s flown him out to a Christian retreat in Arizona to “heal himself” – BRILLIANT! Poor guy though. He’ll probably be a complete head case the rest of his life after a couple of months out there. Must find out whose coke it actually was. They must be on a serious guilt trip right now.

One hour and thirty minutes til the Spanish test. Might as well just accept the fact that I’m going to make a complete balls-up of the whole thing. We’re supposed to be filling in our uni application forms in a couple of weeks’ time. Christ, I don’t even know what I want to study let alone where I want to go. It’s all very well for the complete squares like Toby and Jim who’ve been mentally decorating their Oxford digs for five years. I’m having to come to terms with the fact that I might have to go somewhere less than remarkable like Bristol or Durham. Or Exeter, God forbid. Oh the shame… I always thought I was gifted..

Hargreaves took us upper sixths into his flat last night and told us that Colin Weston’s mum’s got cancer and we’re going to have to be nice to him from now on. I mean I feel sorry for him of course but who the Hell are we going to pick on now?? Apparently she could be dead by Christmas. He’ll be an orphan then. His dad dropped dead on the golf course the summer before last. Oh well, at least he’ll get shit loads of inheritance AND special consideration when they mark his A-level papers. Lucky bastard..

Menthols

Just got back to the boarding house. Hardly anyone else is here yet but I wanted to get back early to try and cram for tomorrow’s Spanish test. Matron reeked of menthol cigarettes when I bundled through the front door – I don’t think she was expecting anyone back so early. She might as well just fess up and deal with the shame. Suppose she’s got to put on a pretence that she’s anti-smoking but Christ, who’s she trying to kid??

God it’s so bloody excellent having my own study at last. Can’t believe I was considering sharing with Colin Weston, just cos no one else would. Realised that if I had I wouldn’t have ever got rid of him and that would have been seriously uncool. Especially as he has previous form as a borderline shirtlifter. Sends shivers down the bloody spine..

Sal turned up late for lunch today; big surprise.. By the time she arrived Mother was three sheets to the wind and Dad and Grannie B had gone out for a walk. That left Grannie H and me to keep an eye on the roast. Not exactly ideal as I’ve only just mastered spaghetti and Grannie H believes that all meat should be cooked until it’s ash to make sure it’s free of bacteria. Luckily Sal’s a bit of a whiz and sorted it all out while making sure that Mother downed two pints of water and was vaguely conscious by the time Dad came back. She’s promised to come down and visit in a couple of weekends and explain what’s going on. Sounds ominous..

Oh, I can hear Johnny Houseman’s squealing baby sister. Ought to go and say hi, though his mother gives me the creeps to be honest. Whenever she leaves she always kisses Johnny on the lips just that bit too long. Seriously grossworthy..