Books about Jesus

General surrealness. I was falling asleep in assembly, when Mrs Mills trotted in with the visitor for today - and Becca dropped her hymn book with a very audible clatter and hissed, "It's him!"
"Who?"
"Giraffe neck! My sponsor! Andrew Lloyd Webber!"
So, finally, I have seen Becca's confirmation sponsor in the flesh. He is a Sunday School teacher, turns up on their doorstep every so often with books about Jesus, because he was Becca's confirmation sponsor. His name is actually Andrew Rice-Oxley, and he is Mrs Rice-Oxley's husband. She, incidentally, is a small grey old Biology teacher with a voice like a vacuum cleaner and a personality to match.
So yes. Surrealness. Giraffe neck is an actual person.

And the surrealness continued, as Becca was complaining about having to learn about plate tectonics as its an unproven theory. I said we still learn about gravity, which has been proven not to exist. Of course she wanted me to explain this, and I ended up having to explain curved space-time and fourth dimensions by way of little illustrations involving grapes in clear jelly. Confusion.

I need to find a book to be reading under the desk in Classics next. Last time, I managed to finish Girl, Interrupted.

Gifted and Talented online Latin course...

Ugh. Today gets ever more weird. Mrs Wadsworth just marched into the end of Classics to say she's leaving!
Not for good... for six months. She's going to do a Gifted and Talented online Latin course... (in Cambridge somewhere) but still. She won't be back until after our GCSEs. The moment she said she was leaving - universal yell of horror. The very first thing anyone shouted was "Are we getting Mrs Williams?" followed by most people shouting "Nooo!" and "You can't leave us here with the lunatics!"
We are not getting Mrs Williams. We are getting a "sixty-five year old, very nice, very enthusiastic" Latin teacher called Mr... something. Holocaust. Something like that.
So no. This is not good.
eniddy is standing behind me reading this, and even she is shocked despite not being here.
And I quote - "I do not approve. She cannot do this."

I don't like this. It is not good. We are now stuck with Miss Gow (a million years old, and very hard to describe. You have to meet her to realise how godwafully unfortunate we are to have her teaching us).
We are losing the only sane Latin and/or Classics teacher ever invented.
Not good.

Sneezing

Bored.
Feel ick.
But mostly bored.
The day, despite its ongoing weirdness, hasn't really been noteworthy. Although I have discovered I remind Emma of Moby. Somehow.
She wasn't there today; therefore I decided I might just have to do PE this week. Reckoning it up, I realised that I've only done it once in the last seven weeks - oops. So Becca and I submitted ourselves to an hour and a half of aerobics. I couldn't believe how boring it was. Not all exercise is boring, but in my humble opinion most of it is. And yet there are still people to whom it is all that is wonderful.

I just sneezed three times in a row. I'm turning into Pedar, who is incapable of sneezing just once. I think I'm succumbing to... something.

A word to snowdrop24 - I'm not coming tomorrow. There wasn't really a battle over it, but due to the logistics of it I can't sneak out, and I guess... I don't know. There's not a lot I can do.
On the way home I heard Alex and her mother having an argument. She wants to go out tonight to Southport - her mother doesn't like the idea at all. When Alex went to fetch her brother, her mother asked me if my parents would let me go out into Southport at night. I said I'd never really thought about it, which is true, I haven't. The idea appeals to me not a whit. How boring.
I don't really know what to do with myself now. I'm bored.

Raspberries. And Chemistry teachers. Hallelujah.

I have now been defriended twice in as many days.
Maybe my journal's getting boring...
That's presuming it ever was interesting...

And I did have a lot to say for myself, but I don't seem to any more. I am looking forward to going to bed. I don't mean that as a euphemism for "I'm tired." I mean I am actually looking forward to putting my head on my (two) pillows. They are nice pillows. They are flat pillows with "Property of Liverpool Area Health Authority" on them with red and white covers and dents where my head has been. My mother swears that I sleep in the exact same way as I did when I was a baby - curled up into a foetal ball, balanced on a pillow.
I was not talking about pillows.
I was talking about...

Chemistry teachers. For some reason mes parents et moi were talking about Chemistry teachers. Pedar said his teacher was awful, but on one occasion, he went to a Chemistry teacher conference, and Pedar's father was there, and he treated them to a meal, just because he was his son's Chemistry teacher, none of which makes sense.
I told him my Chemistry teacher is a walking talking rulebook with lemon yellow accoutrements. He said he remembered her.
My mother started telling me about her Chemistry teacher. He ran off with her best friend.
Pedar and I said she won. She had the worst Chemistry teacher.

And now I sit here, drinking Smirnoff Ice with a handful of raspberries thrown in, because I am just so decadent...