The End of an Era

Before I start (the first person to say I already have gets a slap), you’ll have to forgive me two small sins. First, the title of this entry is the literary clichéd equivalent of Linda Barker; if you don’t understand that, then don’t feel stupid – it took me about 5 minutes to decide on the structure on that sentence and even now I’m fully aware of the fact that it makes little to no sense.

My second apology is for the simple fact that the era in question, while it may be part-ended, is far from completely over. Perplexed? I thought not, but read on anyway – it’s more fun that whatever you were doing before you started reading (unless you were having sex, in which case, I retract my last statement. (Although, having said that, people have been known to compare the levels of excitement obtained from my blog to sex… *shot*)).

Anyway, now that I’ve got that neurological ejaculation of unnecessary bullshit out of the way, I’ll get on with what I actually started writing this entry for: the last day of school (sort of).

If you read the last paragraph (which I’m humbly assuming you did), you’ll be blessed with the knowledge that, at some point in the last week, school’s last day (sort of) threw itself upon me (and the rest of my year). And, surprisingly enough, you’d be right. The reason for the “sort of”, and also the explanation for my second apology earlier on, is that, while official, structured lessons might have finished, we still have to go in for revision classes and exams. What fun.

So, then, I've now wasted a somewhat substantial amount of your time raving about what I’m going to be talking about but avoiding actually talking about it, (see, I’m still doing it now and YOU are still falling for it!), and I have, needless to say, accomplished very little in the way of informative literature.

Ok, ok, ok. I’ll get to the point – the last day (sort of) of school. The first three lessons (apart from science, wherein 100+ students were crammed into two science labs for something of a ‘party’ (ok, it wasn’t that bad, we got free custard creams!)), took place as per usual. The afternoon, however, was a different affair entirely, as we all sat down in the hall to watch the leaver’s assembly.

This was orchestrated by the deputy head, who began with a slideshow of pictures of us from pre-Y11. Then, about half way through the presentation, the pièce de résistance – 4 manipulated photos of one unlucky person (Jack Bell, for future reference), in the form of “Ping-pong Jacky”, “Jacky Potter”, “Professor Jack” and another one which I’ve forgotten, created by me and Ashley (http://esurfers.co.uk).

The slideshow then moved on, and the final slide contained a masterpiece started by Ashley and finished by moi – a collage of photoswaps. Cartoon characters and TV icons mixed with the heads of people from school. It was greeted with something along the lines of hushed laughter, whatever that is. I presume this was because people were trying to find out who they’d been given the body of, (and well they might, certain manipulations included a tech teacher as the pope, Ashley as an orange body builder, and Jack (yep, him again) as Bender. It should also be noted that the maths teacher’s head was placed on the body of a Fimble, and, head tilted and arms outstretched, was positioned in such a way as she appeared to be checking out Jack’s crotch).

Following the presentation, people began to do their own acts. They were all rather good, and Emily, Heather and Olivia (who I’ve mentioned in another entry) performed a song.

Inevitably, as the assembly drew to a close, people began to cry. It was all very sad and emotional, and, while I managed to refrain from ‘shedding a tear’, writing about it would probably be considered voyeurism, so I’ll do an Eastenders and ‘leave it aaht’.

Moving on.

After the assembly, we (that is, a group of about 15 of us), relocated to the drama studio to eat cake. Me, Emily, and a few others turned up first, just in time to be met by a chavette of unprecedented scallyness, who, through tar-clogged vocal chords, asked me if I was gay. She then proceeded to ask us all if we had 50p to get a drink, and after we’d all replied negatively, she took a chocolate finger out of the cake and legged it.

Shortly afterwards, Megan (there you go, you got into my blog!), Ellie (and you!), and some others arrived. Then, like halitosis, the chav girl returned and was promptly told to fuck off by the aforementioned girls, before attempting to wrestle with Kathryn, who ‘took it outside’.

Either way, we all (finally) got round to eating the cake, which was, it has to be said, not only ridiculously tasty, but also amazingly crafted (it was shaped into ‘that car’ from Grease).

After I’d devoured more than my fair share, and we’d all lain about on the drama studio floor for a while, we went outside to play Frisbee. As time went on, Megan felt the need to take her bra off, in the middle of the field, and wear it outside her t-shirt, apparently because, “It’s painful”.

I then realised it was time to go, so me, Megan and Ellie walked back to art to get my stuff, and then on to the car park. I don’t whether to laugh or cry about the fact that my mum’s first encounter with Miss Griffiths involved certain pieces of lingerie being worn outside her clothes. Ah well…

Alton Towers

I had planned an entry for this based around the following thought, “I’m at home, while everyone is out doing whatever it is people do at Alton Towers (vomiting on to the people in front of them on Oblivion)”. However, creativity and inspiration began to wane exponentially from then on, so I decided against it.

However, it definitely deserves writing about, so here goes. As you may have gathered, yesterday saw pretty much everyone in my year (not me, though), go to Alton Towers. I didn’t go because a) it was too expensive, and b) the thought of having my face forcibly ripped from my skull and plastered onto a headrest while going three million miles an hour down a straight vertical drop doesn't really set my balls on fire.

Despite the looming death, it was a pity I didn't go, as it would have given me an opportunity to fulfil the ongoing joke between me and Ashley (or “Ushy” as the retarded Y9’s call him), of “coming on Rita” (albeit in a decidedly morbid manner that would require several people with spatulas to clear up). Childish though it may be, it saved many a science lesson from becoming a pit of dullness (quite a task, actually).

Onwards and Upwards

So, then, where do I go from here? After my GCSE’s, I’m heading off to Marple 6th Form to do Computing, Applied ICT (easy A-level), English Language, and Psychology. The last, though, apparently, isn’t very good, so I’m considering History instead.

I’ve sat here for five minutes thinking of a witty ending, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it just ain’t gonna happen. So, I’ll bid thee farewell. (Actually, I won’t, I’ll just say bye).

Bye.