raven | Dec. 3rd, 2003

Because nothing in this house works, I am writing this in Notepad. The internet is sort of kind of working, similar to yesterday, but the landline is worse, all horrible and crackly and almost incomprehensible at times. Which is horrible because it's the landline. The bloody landline. I'm used to my phone not working, ever, and the internet being screwed all the time, and so on and so forth, but the landline? It's supposed to work, dammit! It's even supposed to work in a power cut, because BT pump enough juice down the line to push its arse into gear.

But it's not working. Neither is the gate, so you can't come and see me, either. My phone is, though - it's your best bet for contacting me. The internet is connecting sporadically, for a few minutes a time, then going again. Argle.

Apart from all this, the day was all right, I suppose. Began with library committee weekly bonding (I wondered earlier why my life is revolving around the library committe at present, and it's because of the Big Read thing, of course) and the rehearsal for Monday. In one corner, Laura and Laura were practising Toad of Toad Hall, in another corner Rola and I were discussing which chapter of Winnie-the-Pooh to dramatise, and in the centre at the table, Mrs Colvin and Mrs Custard were having a mature, adult fight about who got to be Professor McGonagall. Mrs Custard finally agreed to be Madam Hooch when I gave a broomstick of her very own. We found the broomstick in the library office, just sitting there, which says a lot about this entire enterprise.

Becca wasn't around today, having gone to another English lit lecture, so she couldn't be the Hungarian Horntail while Mr Wood did his Harry Potter bit. Emma read, and he made surfing motions on the other broomstick and then attempted riding it ("That is obscene," Mrs Colvin told him) as Emma continued. "Enough with the phallic symbolism," is the consensus, but it was very funny and the lower school will be in hysterics. Emma's sister, Sophie, has no idea her father and her big sister are planning to embarrass her so magnificently in front of the entire school. Emma is considering giving her a paper bag with eye-holes.

Becca is probably now going to have to be both the Hungarian Horntail and the Balrog. I'll have to break this to her tomorrow.

When we were all filing out of the room, Mrs Custard forgot her broomstick. I threw it to her, she caught it, and went off to register her form looking happier than ever.

My morning's lessons really can pass without comment. Politics first, House of Lords to be specific. I would like to take a moment to say that it would be so, so cool to be the government Chief Whip, just for the job description. Imagine what it would be like at parties.
"So what do you do?"
"I'm the Chief Whip."

And Biology followed, which was mostly uninteresting apart from Rice-Oxley telling me I am a "useless mine of information." She later claimed she said this in the wrong order. Ah. I departed without imparting any information, useless or otherwise; I think the topic came up because we were discussing end-of-term dates. Because of Medlink, I'm going to miss the general knowledge quiz. Not the team one (I'm the team captain!) but the school one, where everyone answers a set of questions and the winners get book tokens. I'm sorry to miss it because I have a chance of winning it - it's only been held once before, and that time I did win it, best in the year and best in the school, and they gave me fifteen pounds' worth of book tokens and a place in the quiz team.

I went to lunch with Emma, and at a quarter past one, went down into the library. Another thing I would like to point out - I have no idea why I go down there. I don't get voluntary service hours from it, neither do I get any specific brownie points, but I like it. I do like it. I like the people and the books and the occasional insane assembly. Unfortunately, the moment we got down there, a girl with a broken wrist came in, followed by a girl with a broken foot. Mrs Barry clucked, muttered something about "seven other first aiders!" and went off. That left Nichola and I to write out the Winnie-the-Pooh script. Sadly, Tigger does not appear in the first book, which was the only one we had. So we have used the chapter containing Eeyore's birthday - he gets a popped balloon and an empty hunny pot - and given all Pooh's lines to Tigger, with the reasoning that if anyone notices they'll have to tell us afterwards and by then it will be too late. I'm rather pleased with the end result, and I've got my ears and everything.

And so... the Stroke Association. Which is a place where nothing happens. Next year I'm going to do my voluntary service at the library, I've decided. It's much better suited to my specific talents.

Actually, something is happening at the Stroke Association in two weeks - the Christmas party. I'll miss that because of Medlink, and I'll also miss the sixth form Christmas party. I rather wish I could go, actually - Charlene offered to let everyone stay over at hers afterwards, which included me - and I'd have had the fun of a costume. The others have decided - Nicola's being Lara Croft and Kat's being Harry Potter. Becca thought about being Frodo, and then Nicola suggested Gandalf. Becca then said if she were being Gandalf the Grey, the rest of them could bloody well be Gandalf the White, Gandalf the Orange and Gandalf the Scottish Tartan.

On my way home, I went to Pritchard's. Tony is away. He's decorating. Argh. I'm going to see him on Monday and nag him as much as possible.

Talking of Harry Potter - I was, a minute ago! - look at this picture.

Couldn't scan it in, so I took a picture of it, or rather him - Ponder Stibbons. Is he, or is he not, Harry Potter grown up? Pedar says it must be deliberate, as the the book it's taken from, The Last Hero, was published after Harry Potter, but I disagree, because Ponder Stibbons as a character existed long before Harry Potter.

And while I'm posting pictures, this one's for