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.