Rats

It's not been a good day. Tiring, as always, and as well as that, consistently wet, and Livejournal's still blocked from the school computers. I raised the issue with Mr Hood, who was shockingly reasonable, agreed the blocking was causing a lot of inconvenience for a lot of people (read, a lot of people in wide-eyed, blank-faced LJ withdrawal) and he'd look into it. I hope he does.

I got my Physics back from yesterday. It wasn't percentaged, but I fed the numbers into the calculator myself and got a nice rounded figure of 93%, which lightened my mood considerably. Beyond that, it was all coursework cover sheets, and Classics was boring and I tried to read and couldn't, and I had to go to French conversation and answer the question, "Est-ce que tu fait pour proteger l'environnement?" and I panicked. To make things slightly worse, Mrs Thomson stopped me in the corridor later especially to tell me not to be so succint in my answers. That didn't contribute towards my confidence.

Because of French, I got no lunch. They ran out of every kind of sandwich save for chicken mayonnaise. I hate chicken mayonnaise. I like sandwiches, but argle. I hate chicken in sandwiches! Who doesn't, apart from my mother? Becca was sublimely pissed off because of the lack of vegetarian options. Gotta love my school and their lack of food, organisation or just about anything else. Everyone in the Derby wing needs a new desk, we're running out of food, there's rats in the centenary hall, break-ins over Easter means most of the stuff in the drama cottage is gone, and what do they do? They move the fucking doors. Because apparently that's more important. It's the doors outside the dining room that have been moved about two metres to the left, and it's all so patently ridiculous I don't have words.

Our last PE lesson was today. Becca managed to skive successfully, and _detroit and I didn't exactly do very much, either. Fittingly, this was the first PE lesson Becca's ever skived, 'cause she's such a hopeless liar. Talking of Becca, she's the reason I have to go out again later tonight. The awards' night is at eight at the Crosby Comrades' Club, and I guess I'll go for a couple of hours - I've been to them all so far...

Right now, probably revision. I'm limiting myself to just LJ and email at the moment, no Yahoo!Groups or Straight Dope or even Google, because I don't want to be too distracted, not that I'm not distracted already, because I am. In a moment of fateful symbolism, I've moved my lamp from the computer table to my desk, which I hardly ever use. I've tidied it and I've even dusted in an attempt to actually get organised and actually revise.

Which is what I'd better do now. I'm leaving at eight, and will be back at about eleven.

"Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl..."

Ah, I had a good night. I was actually going to keep Becca happy - imagine how pissed off she would have been if yet another person cancelled - and I very nearly didn't go, because my mother was giving me a lift and the car suddenly stalled in a puddle (the roads are covered in rainwater). But Pedar arrived and saved the day, so I surprised Becca and Bev by turning up after all at about a quarter to nine. Becca was just informing Bev she didn't think I was coming when Bev actually saw me and gave a trademark Bev-scream: "Aaaaaaargh! Iona's here!"

I was glad she was so pleased to see me. She'd only been there a few minutes herself, and in next to no time we started going through the familiar routine - this was my fourth year, and every year we do entrance money, raffle tickets and football quizzes. Becca's dad, at the mic, asked for a round of applause for "the girls at the door" and got it. cucharita had arrived by then (_detroit was a no-show), and we were much impressed by the ensuing applause.

We got free drinks, which were even more fun, but I mixed drinks and drank without having eaten anything, which wasn't, in retrospect, such a good idea, because I am such a cheap date. I had wine-and-soda, but I also kept drinking cucharita's Smirnoff Ice, some of the time when she wasn't looking and most of the time when she was. She asked Thomas if she could bite him. His face was a treat. Some time after that we went to see if the DJ had Punk Rock Princess, which he hadn't, and then we attacked the buffet. Which was nice. I love those little caramel slice things, and so does everyone else.

We tried dancing, but at first we were the only ones, and when we finally got going, and there was good music on and other people around, Becca had a slight disaster - front of top coming undone - and hastily retreated to the loos. Happily Enid noticed in time - it could've been more embarrassing for her. After that she was somewhat discouraged, and sat nursing the Smirnoff Ice while Bev, Enid and me made fools of ourselves to Greased Lightning. At the time, Enid and I were trying to remember the tune to the Copacabana, without much success.

Enid got picked up at eleven, and Becca informed me of the appearance of my "father figure" at around eleven fifteen, so I didn't really stay that late. But I'm glad I went. It was much more fun than I expected, and by far my favourite of all the years we've been. Maybe because I drank more, but I think it was because of the company. Mmmm.

Tired now.