Midnight Mass

Note to self – have all your Christmas shopping done BEFORE Christmas Eve in future. Especially if you live in Bromley, as (unfortunately) I do. To say that the majority of the people that live there are morons, imbecils and monstrously common would be a drastic understatement.

I decided that socks might be a tad unoriginal for Dad’s Christmas present. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed opening the same gift for the last six years I’m sure but still, I felt that it would be only fair to ring the changes. Add to that the fact that I was able to pinch a twenty from mother’s purse when she was asleep this afternoon, and I was suddenly feeling quite generous. So I decided to buy the old boy a decent looking shirt for weekend wear. Dad’s never really embraced the “relaxed” look, favouring a blazer and tie, even on a Saturday afternoon. So I thought a damn trendy rugger shirt would go down a storm and be an easy choice for me. Perhaps it would be if I lived somewhere pleasant. Some appealing market town in the shires perhaps. But no. I had to spend my hard “borrowed” cash in Bromley’s Discount Madhouse (obviously I wanted there to be a decent amount of change for me to buy a small treat for myself). The atmosphere in there was similar to how I imagine things were when the Herald of Free Enterprise was a 900 yards out of Zeebrugge. Panicked, and full of ghastly people who’d probably been drinking too much. An hour later I made it to the cash tills and was able to get out but not without sustaining some severe mental scarring. No, I shall not be choosing to buy in Bromley when the time comes for me to purchase an abode of my own…

Ralph and I are heading to midnight mass now. Chiefly to be warmed by communion wine before starting on his father’s port. Bring it on!

Phone Fear

HAVE to finish Christmas shopping this morning or I am seriously dead meat. Shouldn’t be too much of a chore but it’s still a pain. Why should I have to buy anyone gifts anyway? It’s not like I’m earning any money, and besides the fact that I can’t afford to buy anything, I show my parents ample love and respect during the rest of the year… Oh well, needs must I suppose.

I tried to call Zoe this morning but her mum said that she wasn’t in. I was seriously annoyed. It had taken me the best part of two hours to pluck up the courage to dial the number in the first place. I kept staring at the numbers on the keypad and then hanging up. All that stress for nothing. Her mum asked who was calling and stupidly I didn’t leave my name. It would have been the perfect get out clause for having to ring her again. Now I’m going to have to call back and go through the hideous fear all over again or she’s going to think I haven’t made the effort. Mind you, I don’t see why she isn’t just as obliged to call me too. That’s women for you I guess. I’d better get used to this..

Ralph said that Devin is panicking that Abby Mac might be pregnant. I’m sure he’s fussing about nothing. She’s not stupid enough to have done anything without protection. Devin’s such a nerd he probably doesn’t realise that using a jonnie pretty much protects you from the worst case scenario. Part of me hopes she IS pregnant. That would make for some LEGENDARY gossip at school after Christmas. How fantastic. The two squarest people in school being teen parents. CLASSIC! Christmas Eve tomorrow.. I hope I’ve got some good presents otherwise there’ll be Hell to pay.

GIRLFRIEND!!

Just got home. WHAT A NIGHT!! Probably the best party that there has ever been on Planet Earth. Such a bloody riot. It was LEGENDARY! Of course I was way too bloody drunk to pop my cherry but the good news is that Zoe Hall is officially my girlfriend. Oh yes! I might not have said this in the past but Zoe Hall is officially the best looking girl in school, without a shadow of a doubt. Lindsay Joyner was even at the party and I didn’t give her a second glance. Neither did she to be fair. Robin was still trying his hardest to get his knob in but she was totally disinterested. She’s probably a bloody lezzer. She doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the chaps, no matter how “good looking” everyone else thinks they are. Either that or she’s TOTALLY frigid.

AND Abby MacKenzie shagged Devin Whitfield!! Fair play to the lad cos he’s a total loser but then on the other hand she’s a massive square. Still, a shag is a shag and I have to bow to the man who gets his end away before I do! I don’t suppose he’ll enjoy the aftermath though. If he’s lucky it’ll be considered old news by the time we get back to school after the holidays.

So me and Zoe snogged for an HOUR and then she let me touch her boobs, UNDER the bra!! Get in!! It was weird. They felt less spongy than I was expecting but that’s probably a good thing. She said that if her parents weren’t coming home she would definitely have been up for a shag. She even touched my bare nuts. It was AMAZING. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to concentrate on A-levels now..

Sisterly Chats

Sal called this morning at breakfast. She said that she wanted to meet me in town “for a chat”. Bloody typical hormonal woman. We met in the Mona Lisa Café in Medhurst's. What a bloody dive. Apart from us the clientele was made up entirely of elderly ladies in plastic raincoats. It was monumentally depressing, not least as Sal wanted to have a massive rant at me for not calling her to congratulate her on her engagement to knobface. I tried a half-hearted apology but it didn’t wash so then I informed her that I had been far too busy with my A-level mocks and said she wouldn’t understand as she never bothered with higher education. That went down like a cup of cold sick but I was riled. It wasn’t my fault. She called me a bastard, I called her self-obsessed and then she cried. After that everything was fine. Giving her hand a trusty squeeze was all it took.

She at least realises that her in-laws are the gippos from Hell. Apparently Ian’s uncle is currently doing time for car theft. They say they don’t speak to him anymore but still, it doesn’t bode well gene wise for my potential nieces and nephews. I don’t really want relatives who are going to be inclined to steal from me in the future. Especially as I’m bound to be extremely rich and successful and have all the things that they can only dream of.

After over an hour of her her her, she finally asked me about my social life and I decided to tell her about tonight’s party. To her credit she actually seemed genuinely excited for me. I didn’t mention the whole sex thing though I did say that there was a girl who was interested in me. Annoyingly this just made her laugh. Shortly after that I made my excuses and left. Managed to pick up some discounted perfume for Mother. I hope she likes it. It smells a bit like lavender which I’m sure old women love..

Now I need to go to that chemists and then get ready. Only six hours to go…

Grannie Drive

Naturally, it being a Sunday, Grannie B and Grannie H came over for their weekly feed. Mother was on surprisingly good form. Though that might have been because Dad was at the office all morning. And possibly something to do with the early opening of a new bottle of sherry. But she made a fabulous roast lamb. Grannie B didn’t even complain about the consistency of the gravy which meant that Mother stayed in a good mood all afternoon.

I was allowed to drive the old dears home at teatime, accompanied by Dad. You could see the whites of their knuckles as they gripped onto the door handles on the back seat. Nothing like having a bit of confidence in their favourite grandson…

I am seriously behind on Christmas shopping now. I think my attention is being distracted by constantly moving from excitement to abject terror at the prospect of tomorrow night’s party. (still no jonnies). I am ABSOLUTELY DEFINITELY going to pick some up from that chemist up the road tomorrow morning. I don’t care who’s serving. I’m seventeen for Christ’s sake. It’s not like it’s illegal. And anyway, people should be applauding the fact that I’m making sure to take the necessary precautions. I realise I’m jumping the gun slightly. It occurred to me that Zoe and I haven’t actually spoken about “us” yet. But still, I’m reasonably confident that after a couple of vodka and orange juices she’ll be fair game..

Ralph’s making a CD mix to play when we get there. Slightly pissed off that she didn’t ask me to do it but also relieved. I’ll freely admit that I have a “different” taste in music to a lot of people at school. But that’s just a sign that I have much BETTER taste than they do.

The Witch

Sometimes I think Mother reckons I’m still ten years old, the things she asks me to do. This morning I have had to go to round all the houses on the street and deliver the neighbours their Christmas cards. It’s such a load of nonsense that she gives them cards anyway. Half of them she can’t even stand. There’s one woman in particular who I also find most peculiar. In fact I don’t doubt that had we been living 400 years earlier she’d probably have been tried as a witch.

I remember a couple of Christmases ago (actually it was probably more like six, but they’re all sort of blurring now) Dad and Mother invited most of the street over for Christmas drinks on the 23^rd. Loads of people came. Corin and Lydia next door are damn good eggs and they were on fine form. Their daughter Samantha is also particularly fine looking, though she is older than me and therefore totally uninterested.. Anyway, Janis (that’s the witch’s name) came round with her husband Horatio (I kid you not) and proceeded to tell Mother that she was “letting the front garden go”. Horatio apologised at once (I imagine he is terribly hen pecked) and explained that Janis had been “feeling under the weather” for some time. A little later I saw her coming out of Dad and Mother’s bedroom. Christ only knows what she’d been up to in there but before I could say anything she was downstairs informing Mother that I had been spying on her in the bathroom! Utterly insane. I protested my innocence at which point she stormed off. I still think Mother is unsure which of us to believe which I find quite galling.. Anyway, it should go without saying that I didn’t put their Christmas card through their letterbox. Instead I put it in the bin.

En Suite

Christ, the holidays really are the dog’s bloody bollocks. Got up at 11:30 today. Turns out I must have needed a damn good kip as I didn’t wake up until then. Not once. And I went to bed before midnight last night. Still tired to be honest but I need to crack on with some Christmas shopping sharpish. Can’t believe it’s only a week away..

My report had arrived this morning. The words from the powers that be were not exactly full of praise. Dad described my report as a curate’s egg. When I looked at him like he was mad he explained that a curate’s egg was only good in parts and, as such, you probably wouldn’t want to eat any of it. He sort of laughed though and then informed me that it was my “future to mess up” if I wanted to. Thanks Dad.

Mother had her ladies over after lunch so I got a lift with Dad into town and met up with Ralph. We soon realised that we were rather bored of each other’s company and decided to not see each other before the party on Monday. I passed a tiny chemists on the walk home and went in to see if they sold the you-know-whats. The good news is they do. The bad news is that the only person who seems to work in there is a woman who appears to be in her late sixties. I might have to have a small toke of voddie before I go in again and ask her to hand them over..

Just going to chill and watch some TV tonight. I’m moving into Sal’s old room which is cool as it’s got a TV and a sink. The sink is basically an en suite bathroom if you think about it. The only thing I can’t do in a sink is have a dump.

Fake Tree

Well, I’m home. It’s the Christmas Hols! Thank bloody God for that! Dad turned up at lunchtime and we drove home in near silence. I think he’s trying to be in a mood with me on behalf of Sal because I haven’t called her since the engagement announcement. Big bloody deal. It’s not my fault that I’m wise enough to know that the whole damn thing’s doomed from the off.. He also made a fleeting query about how I’d got on with my mocks so I glossed over that subject to the best of my ability. It’s bound to rear its head again before too long though so I’d better come up with some creative excuses for not divulging my results.

Mother was asleep in the living room when I got home. Dad reckoned she was exhausted from putting up the Christmas decorations. He’s so bloody soft it’s hopeless. I’m not sure even I would be worn out from taking a four foot fake tree out of a box and plugging it in. I couldn’t help noticing the empty glass of brandy on the table next to her but thought I wouldn’t mention it. Dad looks thinner than I’ve ever seen him before. Probably a mixture of stresses – being married to my sizzled mother is one, and being about to fork out for the most disastrous wedding in modern history the other. It’s enough to put you off getting married and having kids… Must get those jonnies..

Having said that of course, my marriage is bound to be a roaring success as I know I’m destined to end up with a bloody fox who is just desperate to do my every bidding and answer my every whim. Can’t bloody wait for that! In the meantime I shall make do with keeping Zoe Hall suitably serviced. Bring it on!

The A List

Hmmm.. slight issue. 62% in English. Pass. 59% in Spanish. Pass. 36%
in Economics. Not quite what we want. I think Mr Davis feels like I've
let down the whole school. Apparently it's the lowest mark ever
achieved in a mock A level. I mean, RELAX. It's a MOCK! Obviously I
wasn't really trying. Honestly some people just need to take a serious
chill pill. He's now talking about individual coaching in the hols.
Like that's going to happen. Luckily the end of term reports have
already been written and posted so I don't have to fess up to the
folks. Not yet anyway. Knowing Davis he'll probably call them for
"crisis talks" or something similarly over-dramatic. What a lot of
nonsense and fuss about nothing. I'm far more concerned about what I
should wear to Zoe's party on Monday night.

Oh yes. It's ON! And I'm invited. I'm probably the guest of honour in
her eyes. She must want me. If she was at all concerned about the
trouser fumble she would have excluded me from the list. Seriously
excited. Of course now I have to go and buy some condoms. Not
something I've ever done before. I could pinch some out of Dad's
bedside cabinet but it's been so long since the parentals have enjoyed
an active sex life I reckon his jonnies will have perished by now. I
wonder where I should make the purchase.. If I wait til I get home
then one of mother's associates is bound to be in the same queue as me
at Boots and I'll be the sauce of Rummy gossip for the entire festive
season.

No, I think I'll have to get it all sorted before then. That's not the
half of it of course. Having never put one on I'm really at a bit of a
loss as to how it all works. Let's hope Zoe knows what she's doing...

Results

Oh my God. I think I might actually be dead. I have NEVER drunk that much booze in one evening. I don’t know what Hargreaves was thinking, God bless him. What a LEDGE housemaster! He’d obviously massively over-ordered and we all ended up with little short of a crate of McEwan’s each! Combine that with the fact that the “dinner” came out of the school kitchens and was therefore largely left on the plate, and it amounted to a bloody tipsy night.

In the end we decided against games. No one was in the mood and Ed Williams got his dad to bring his decks in so we turned the TV room into a small-scale nightclub. It was a bloody good laugh actually. Miss Dobson was no less smashed than the rest of us and Jonny may well have snogged her had Matron not stepped in to preserve what was left of her dignity. She was bundled into a cab about ten minutes later. Christ knows if she ever made it home. Can’t wait to shame them in assembly tomorrow morning. We would have done it today had we not all been so utterly hanging.. I’d be surprised if we see Dobson this side of the new year all things considered.

Mock results are going up on the boards later this afternoon. Not exactly relishing finding out how badly I’ve done but fuck it, it’s nearly Christmas. It’s not like the parentals are even going to be aware of my results. They seem to be far too wrapped up in their own dilemmas at the moment. Haven’t heard from either of them for almost two weeks now. Christ knows who’s coming to pick me up and take me home. Perhaps I’m supposed to carry my own trunk on the train like some sort of Victorian pauper. Ridiculous…

House Games

Once again my status as the “sixth former with time on his hands” has found me roped into setting up the house Christmas dinner tonight. On the plus side it means I get to organise the seating plan which will ensure that I am not sitting amongst the arrogant bastards of the boarding house. I have decided to place myself between Adam Fuller because he is quite amusing, especially when inebriated, and Jonny Adkins because he is popular and will make me look cool. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Obviously I’m pretty bloody awesome in my own right but there’s no harm in accentuating the positive..

Hargreaves wants me to come up with a game that everyone can play afterwards. That’s a tough call, considering there’s fifty of us that live here and eight members of staff who will be attending too. I’m tempted to suggest that he leads us in a game of hide and seek and then we all get smashed while he’s waiting for us in some cupboard. Oh, he also wants me to make sure that one of the third years takes a plate of food to Dominic Lafferty’s study so he at least gets something to eat. Big mistake. There’s every chance that that plate of food will end up smeared over the walls of the entrance hall if Lafferty’s behaviour of late is anything to go by. He’s really quite deranged. The sooner he gets out of the public school system the better. I think he’d agree with that too, given his utter loathing of anything vaguely privileged or middle class. Apparently he’s the heir to a multi million pound fortune as well. What a massive waste. He’ll only piss it up the wall on charitable donations and other pointless tat. Makes you sick…

An Excellent Uncle

Bloody wicked afternoon, yesterday. Ralph and I headed to Deerham as planned and made our way to The Old Fox. Charming pub. Legendary landlord, totally bonkers. Really bloody cuckoo. We drank far too much of course, as the old boy just kept bringing us more and more booze. He hadn’t a clue that we were underage. I think he’s probably from a time when there was no minimum age. By the time we left it was almost pitch black outside. There was no way either of us were in a state to make our way back across the moor to the city so we had to knock up Ralph’s uncle. Bloody good egg. He took us under his wing big style and sobered us up with pints of water and coffee and then he drove us back to the school gates so we were ensconced in our respective studies in plenty of time. Reckon Hargreaves was slightly suss but he couldn’t do anything as the excruciating nausea had passed. I was just in rather a jolly mood!

I did consider heading out again in time for the end of supper leave to meet the revellers but decided to stay low key. Probably for the best. I was clearly going to be on Hargreaves radar for the duration of the evening. Hope Zoe wasn’t expecting to see me. Will find out today what the plan is for the party. Have decided, what’s the worst that can happen if I do bring it up? She can only say no. And if she does then at least I’ll know where I stand. God, she’d better not say no though. I’ll be bloody gutted. Just think, in a little over a weeks’ time I could be a fully-fledged sexually active individual. I will have properly made it in life. Ruddy awesome.

New Pub

Got absolute rat-arsed in Hargreaves’ flat last night. Not as rat-arsed as Dominic Lafferty of course. Yet again he couldn’t handle his booze and had a pop at the middle classes, forgetting that he’s a fully paid up member of said class. He knocked over one of Hargreaves’ porcelain thimbles before running into his bathroom and yacking up (more on the pedestal mat than down the pan). Needless to say Hargreaves has banned him from the House Christmas dinner on Monday night. I don’t know where he expects him to go. It’s not like he can be locked in his study. Lafferty will find a way to get hold of some booze. He always does. I’m going to predict here and now that there’ll be fireworks between those two before Tuesday morning. CLASSIC!

Ralph and I are going for a “run” this afternoon. This whole dressing up in PE kit just to go and get shit-faced in a boozer three miles away is losing its appeal though. I might even take a change of clothes in a ruck-sack this time. I’m sure the other drinkers must think we’re bloody odd sat there in white shorts in the middle of December. We’re going to try somewhere else near Deerham today. Ralph reckons he knows the perfect place. It’s not far from where his uncle lives apparently. I think we should just go round his uncle’s place and crack into his booze but Ralph reckons that’s a non-starter. We’ll see.. I’ve got to buy the smokes again. I’m sure it’s not my turn. Plus Ralph is going through a “hard” phase and makes me buy the red packet. Urgh, it’s like putting an exhaust pipe in your mouth. I might over-rule him on this one. I think it’s time I started demonstrating that I’m not a complete pushover.

Mock Shortbread

I decided to be super-generous and take Elspeth a Christmas present when I went to see her yesterday afternoon. I bought her a tin of shortbread from Sainsbury’s. One of those ones that comes in a tin that looks like it’s got a ribbon around it. I thought that was pretty damn generous of me but she didn’t seem remotely impressed. Bloody old hag. Don’t think I’ll bother with her anymore. That was £1.49 down the bloody drain. Honestly, she looked at it like I’d given her a tin of dog turds. Elspeth; that’s probably a Scottish name isn’t it.. They’re a dour old bunch. I expect she doesn’t really believe in celebrating Christmas, or anything else come to that. These war veterans are all about sufferance and hardship. They bloody love it. Well, they can have it. I’m not going to feel bad about wanting to enjoy life. Sorry Elspeth, you’re history.

My driving test has been cancelled next week. Total pain in the arse. Now I’m not going to be able to drive during the hols which is going to make impressing Zoe a damn sight harder. I spoke to Ralph about the party. He thinks I should ask her about it. He says it’ll be a good way to “open up a dialogue” – I seriously question Ralph’s taste in vocab at times. I want him to ask. Hard as it is to admit, he’s better looking than me, and Zoe’s bound to be more encouraged if he mentions it to her. She’ll think I’m just after more fumbles if I say anything. Of course that’s exactly what I am after but I don’t want to make it obvious. Last mock today. Who’d be a teacher? They’ve got to get them all marked and results back to us by Wednesday. I think I can safely say I’m not particularly looking forward to Wednesday..

Christmas Is Coming

Colin Weston’s mum has gone into a hospice. Apparently you don’t really come out of hospices. Well you do, but you’re usually in a wooden box and not breathing any more. Poor chap. Well, poor woman too I guess, but I think Colin’s really going to struggle with it. He’s desperately unpopular and now he hasn’t got any parents to turn to in his hours of need. What a dire situation to be in. Puts my family’s woes in the shade.

I still haven’t spoken to Sal. She’ll be in a mood with me by now. I’ll just make out that I’ve been super-busy with the A-level mocks. She’ll understand. She didn’t do A-levels so hopefully she thinks they’re really stressful and occupy your every waking moment. In fact for most people they probably do but I can’t seem to get too worked up about them. Maybe I will nearer the time but I’m far too concerned about popping this incredibly persistent cherry of mine. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t been on the phone to be honest. He’s usually quite good at informing me that I should ring Mother/Sal/Auntie Helen (delete as applicable) but there’s not been a word from the homestead since I received the letter a week ago. I wonder how things are. I expect Mother’s found the whole thing to be another excuse to get blotto. I ought to try and squeeze in an exeat before the end of term but frankly that’s not going to happen. Christ, I’ve just realised we break up next week! How dense of me. A week today we’ll be packing our trunks and heading off. Zoe had better have that party And she’d better have it this side of Christmas. Christmas. Presents. Haven’t bought a thing. But then I’m skint so I can’t buy much. Socks for Dad, candles for Mother, CD for Sal. Job done.

Booze Paradox

Halfway through these arsing mocks. What a total pain in the cheeks they are. And a waste of time in my opinion. Surely we should be concentrating our efforts on the real thing? Honestly, sometimes I really wonder about the effectiveness of the people running this institution. I mean I’m sure they’re bloody good chaps and all that but they do seem to enjoy putting the fear of God into one when it’s really not necessary. If people want to smoke, let them smoke. It’s their own health that they’re putting at stake, no one else’s. Mostly.. And booze. That’s the real paradox.

We’re banned from consuming alcohol in public but Hargreaves and others are more than happy to ship in crateloads of the stuff to their own flat, then invite us in and get us hammered on McEwans. Bizarre. Even the 3^rd years are allowed enough to get a bit wobbly at the end of term. Far better that we should be given the responsibility of looking after ourselves. I can tell you now that given the choice of openly sipping a gin and tonic at my desk of an evening, or having to pretend that I’m quaffing a mug of coffee, when it’s actually filled with Martini Rosso, well, you can imagine what I’d rather be doing.

Still haven’t really spoken to Zoe since the trouser touch. It’s so frustrating. I just completely clam up when I’m stone cold sober and there’s other people around. I don’t know why I worry that she’s going to be icily hostile but I can’t shake the fear that she’s relishing the opportunity to humiliate me in public. I clearly need some kind of counselling. Ralph just sighs and rolls his eyes when I express my concerns. It’s alright for him. He’s been doing this for years. Pity the late starter. It’s a bad place to be.

Orange Tights

An advent calendar arrived in the post this morning. I think it’s from Dad, though it purported to be from Mother. The signature was decidedly unconvincing, not least due to the sober nature of its construction.. Still, I’m pleased to have received one from someone. It’s not chocolate of course but, as I have already mentioned, that pleases me frankly.

Ralph has been made a house monitor. I can’t bloody believe it. It’s a total sham and it’s only the case because Mark C was one and, now he’s in his Arizona retreat, he’s “unavailable for duty” (these were the actual words of Ralph’s housemaster). I’m now the only person I know with a plain black tie. Ralph can now wear one with red stripes. It’s so bloody unfair. He’d better not get ideas above his station. It’s only a house monitorship I suppose. If he was a school monitor that would be a different thing altogether. They get to walk on the lawns. And I know Ralph. He’d deliberately do that just because I couldn’t.

Apparently Mark C will be back next term. Poor bloke. We never did get to the bottom of the charlie scandal. My money’s on Ed Humphreys. But that’s only because whenever there’s a drug story doing the rounds Ed’s name usually pops up somewhere along the way. He’s a jammy bastard you know. I think sometimes people are just born lucky and they flaunt it. They can get away with outrageous behaviour because of it. I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if Ed ends up in politics. Luck always runs out of course. So one day I’ll doubtless read that he’s been found dead, lying on a hotel bed with a pair of black tights over his head and an orange segment wedged in his mouth. It’s how he’d want to go I’m quite sure..

House Notes

Henry’s asked me to help him fine tune (his words) the house notes for this term. Feel rather honoured actually. I thought he was a bit of a meat head to be honest but if he’s picking up on the fact that I’m actually something of a wit then he can’t be as dense as all that. Of course now the pressure is on. When I said yes last night I thought I knew every morsel of house gossip there was but now I think about it I hardly know anything. Still, I’m sure that between us we can come up with something terribly droll.

My stomach’s already in knots about the bloody uni interview letters. Alex Dudley has already had an invitation to an attend interview from Oxford for Christ’s sake. No doubt he got his application in weeks ahead of the closing date but still. What if none of them want to see me?? Not going to happen of course but I can’t get the worry out of my mind. The shame of it. I suppose I should worry more about passing the actual A-levels in the first instance. English this afternoon. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m hoping there’s an Othello question. There’d better be. It’s the only Shakespeare I’ve got to grips with. That Iago was a bit of a shit wasn’t he? I mean we’re all a little bit racist from time to time but that really takes the cake…

Zoe will be in my English exam. I’m going to try and instigate a conversation with her afterwards. Maybe even see if she fancies a cup of tea in my study. I know that’s a ridiculous notion as I will hopelessly chicken out of saying anything at all when I actually see her but still. The thought’s there.

Rotten Apples

I really don’t understand why we are forced to attend matins every Sunday morning. I mean, if you believe then of course you might like to head over for a spot of thoughtful prayer, but if you don’t it’s just really rather an insufferable waste of time. Especially as I have so much else to think about now. This morning the priest (is it a priest? After all these years I’m still not really sure) told us that we should think about a boy he had witnessed stealing an apple from a fruit stall in the high street during the week. He told us that we should recognise that the boy did wrong but the fact that we could not know whether the boy knew he was doing wrong meant that we should naturally be inclined to forgive him his trespasses. Oh for goodness sake. What a lot of rot. When I was three years old I stole three fifty pence pieces from my grandfather’s coin purse. I knew I was doing wrong. I knew because I made sure that no one saw me do it. I think I believed that being in possession of £1.50 would make me quite possibly the richest person in all Christendom. Unfortunately my mother found the fifty pence pieces later that day and threatened to take me to the police station if I ever did anything similar again. I cried. She cried. I went to bed. And knowing Mother she probably had a few gins to get over the shock of discovering that her son was already turning to petty crime for cheap thrills..

Zoe went out on supper leave with a bunch of other girls last night. I tried to nonchalantly hang around near her boarding house hoping for a repeat of Friday’s night’s fun but I must have missed them somehow. I didn’t sleep well. I wonder if she’s thinking about me..

Touching Cloth

Zoe touched my penis! Well, not touched exactly but she definitely felt it through my trousers. Unfortunately she caught me completely unawares and so I wasn’t exactly at my most impressive. Worse still, no matter what, I just couldn’t make it happen. I thought about Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Liaisons, about Jessica Rabbit, about Elisabeth Shue in Cocktail. Christ I even let Sam Fox cross my mind but nothing. Luckily I think Zoe was too drunk to notice. She managed to get Abby MacKenzie to give up her booze rations so she got through four pints of Carlsberg. That’s a hell of a lot for a bird. But at least it meant I got a fumble AND a semi snog. Can’t wait to report all to Ralph this afternoon at “Cross Country”. I just hope our session isn’t ruined by the unwelcome presence of the teaching staff..

The Uni application is done and in thank Christ! Of course I was fully intending to give up Choral Society and my visits to Elspeth as soon as Hargreaves had signed on the dotted line but now I find I’m quite enjoying both, in a bizarre way. Let’s face it, I haven’t got a whole lot else going on. I could argue that I should be using the time to revise but I know myself well enough to realise that that’s not going to happen. If it’s a choice between opening a text book or hanging out in town drinking coffee and sneaking the occasional cheeky fag it’s not bloody rocket science to figure out what I’ll be doing. No, I think Elspeth and I will become firm friends in time. She might even leave me her house when she carks it. Must ask her if she’s got any family left next time I’m there…

Nervous Old Lady

I expect Sal is waiting for me to call with congratulations on her “exciting” news. I just can’t bring myself to pick up the phone. I was still awake at two o’clock this morning fretting about the wedding. Let’s hope something comes along to screw it all up before we get that far..

Spanish mock went okay yesterday afternoon. Elaine Jones had an asthma attack halfway through so she didn’t get to finish. At least that means I won’t come last this time. Well I’d better bloody not.

After that I went to see Elspeth again. On my own this time. I could tell she was slightly anxious. She sat right in the corner of the room and I couldn’t see her left hand. I think she was clutching a stick or something, just out of sight, in case I suddenly went mad and tried to attack her. As if! I think she warmed to me eventually though she seemed rather offended that I didn’t eat any of her stale biscuits. I wonder if all old people eat stale biscuits or whether it’s just people who are sad and lonely enough to require visits from sixth formers who need more brownie points for their uni applications. That’s the task of the day today. Hargreaves has said he’ll fill in his bit for everyone tonight and post them off in the morning. I’ve almost got it sussed in my head now. I’m applying to Bristol and Cardiff but that’s mostly because Ralph is too and it would be a bloody riot if we end up going to the same place. And Zoe is only applying to London colleges so if I end up at arsing Roehampton then at least I’ll have totty on tap, if all goes as planned in that department.

Must brace myself for a shower before heading to the JCR, just in case..

The Letter

So a letter has arrived this morning. It’s from Sal. And it says:

“Dear Clarence,

I wanted to write this in a letter so you’d be able to keep it for old times’ sake.

On Sunday Ian proposed to me and I said yes!!!! Isn’t that just the most exciting thing ever?? He even asked Dad formally for my hand in marriage. He’s such a great guy and is going to be a brilliant brother to you Clarence. He’s already got lots of ideas about what you should do with your life. I’m so happy.

The engagement ring was his grandmother’s. It’s a beautiful sapphire and diamond cluster. All the girls at work are really jealous.

The wedding will probably happen in May next year. It’s going to be brilliant!!

Speak to you soon

Lots of love

Sal xxx”

I am still shaking. This is basically the end of our family, such as it is. If she thinks I’m having anything to do with Ian’s lot then she’s seriously deluded. Oh and “he’s already got lots of ideas about what you should do with your life”.. er, excuse me??! If he so much as puts forward an opinion on ANYTHING I express an interest in doing then I will actually summon up some kind of primeval urge and punch him so hard in the face he’ll look like a Chinaman.

I feel absolutely sick to the core. And what a bloody povvo. Giving her his grandmother’s ring. Everyone knows you’re supposed to spend shit loads of cash on an engagement ring. Not just nick it off a dead relative and palm it off as a heartfelt gesture. What a despicable knob. I seriously don’t think I’m going to be able to be civil to him when we next have to meet. No doubt they’re already planning some sort of hideous engagement party. I pray God that it’s not going to be at our house. For a start Mother will undoubtedly shame herself with a drunken spectacle and I don’t doubt his family will probably rob us blind of every antique we own. What a complete and unmitigated disaster.

Dirty Downstairs

It’s still arsingly freezing cold in this house. I had to get a blanket out of the emergency supplies yesterday evening. I don’t care that Matron gave me a look that suggested she thought I really ought to be a lot more hardy about things. It’s cold. I’m trying to stay warm. It’s as simple as that. Why deliberately suffer?

Unfortunately the Siberian temperatures are making it almost unbearable to set foot in the showers. That water is never really what you could describe as hot. It doesn’t matter most of the time but in weather like this you really need it to burn. So I’m not feeling at my most hygienic. Which means I should probably steer clear of Zoe Hall this evening. Don’t want to find that she’s suddenly up for a bit of how’s your father when I’m less than spring clean down there… I’m sure I’m being overly cautious. We’re doubtless several months away from the fellating stage of our not-yet-started relationship but with girls sometimes they just whip it out and get to work. Of course I don’t speak from experience but Henry (whom I'm inclined to believe when it comes to matters of the bedroom) said he’s been caught unawares on two occasions. It’s not that he’s particularly handsome. But his position of alleged power, being head of house, does funny things to females perception of him. It’s a nonsense of course but it’s sadly true.

I’m going to call home this evening. I’m imaging it’s safe now. I’m going to confess that I didn’t pass the test again. It’s obvious to all that I’ve just been the victim of unfortunate circumstance and Dad would never give me any grief over these things. I just feel it would be polite to advise him in advance this time that he’s about to be billed for a third test in the next week or so. I’m hoping I can get it in before Christmas. Especially if things kick off with Zoe at her party. I’d look so damn cool if I was able to drive over to her house.

Arctic Blast

Still nothing from home. Excellent. I’m just writing this while furiously downing toast. It has suddenly got marginally colder than Alaska in the boarding house. The hot water pipes are very good at making a load of noise but they don’t seem to actually generate heat, which is a fundamental flaw in my opinion. I mentioned it to Hargreaves but he just offered up a wry smile and said something like “You should try living through a world war. Then you’d understand suffering”. What that’s supposed to mean coming from him, I’ve no bloody clue. It’s not like he survived the death camps. From the look of him he was probably evacuated to an idyllic farmstead in the north of England and was force-fed currant buns and full cream milk.

Mother didn’t send me an advent calendar, needless to say. I wouldn’t mind. I realise that at 17 I shouldn’t necessarily want one but almost every other bastard in the house has one. Even Henry for God’s sake. Ralph’s got a chocolate one of course, but he’s always been spoilt. I might have to go and buy myself one in secret just so I don’t look like I’ve been abandoned. They can’t cost much. Just one with pictures for me. I might not be religious but I know that Christmas isn’t about chocolates that taste like they’ve been open too long.

First mock on Thursday. It’s Spanish literature, which should be okay. We’ve been reading Chronicle of a Death Foretold and fortunately we’ve also been shown the film so I’ve got the gist of the story without having to be too sharp on the old Spick lingo. Then it’s the first English Lit on Monday and then an exam every day that week. Uni application deadline is Friday and Hargreaves has to sign mine off before then so it’s anything but the season to be jolly. They should be paying us not the bloody other way round.