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.