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!