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??