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"Oh, God."
Nov. 4th, 2004 06:00 pmToday has been a busy but strangely productive day. Strange, today being the morning after the day before, and I must say that there are fifty-eight million people out there very good at hiding as I have not yet met any of them. Which is my roundabout way of saying I should have stayed in bed today.
This is not, for once, mere hyperbole. I arrived in school to find Mrs Colvin wanted to chew me out for not going to General yesterday (this is not new) and English had been cancelled and, really, I had the morning off. So I went down to the library and read the Guardian from cover to cover. Well, I tried to. It is, as we all know, a broadsheet. And I am only a little girl and read broadsheets with both hands clutched desperately on each side of the newspaper, and take up so much room that I can't in all politeness read broadhseets on the train. So I was sitting there reading it when suddenly it disappeared. My hands were there, held out in the clutch position, but the newspaper was gone. I blinked.
Mr Evans said, "Hope you don't mind," and went skipping off down the corridor waving my newspaper.
Yes, it would appear he has bounced back. For a given value of it, anyway: he's no longer trudging around as though his entire family have died and is currently at the stage where he's photocopying madly from the newspapers so he can give handouts to all his classes on the election results. I heard the photocopier whirr, then he reappeared and gave back what he stole.
When I finished reading it, I went on to the G2 supplement, and was startled into laughing. I'm assuming a lot of people have seen it, but for those that haven't, instead of the usual picture on the front, it just has a large black block of colour and two small words in white:
Oh, God.
As I said while I was laughing, it's only funny 'cause it's true. Oh, that sweet taste of defeat.
When I finished reading it,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilka called. She actually arrived mere seconds later, and I threw down all the newspapers. Jane's despair was as palpable as mine; we spent a few minutes bewailing it before I went to see Mrs Colvin. She told me to consider myself told off - yes, told off indeed - and then Jane and I went out to the village. We didn't have anything planned in particular except talking, and acquiring gingerbread in my case, and we sort of wandered to the park where we sat by the duck pond and chatted about politics and fandom.
On our way down there, we were accosted by a small blonde boy. He was probably about ten or eleven, with friends, and wanted change for the phone or something. We ignored him and went down to one of the benches. But about ten minutes later, he and his mates ran past by the pond, dropped their shoes by us and their little ringleader grabbed Jane's bag before running for it. Thankfully, Jane was much faster than me. She ran after them and forced the boy to drop the bag, and came running back looking rather startled. I mean, they were about ten. Surely that's too young for a life of delinquency?
Anyway, we returned to the delights of conversation, and I was interested to note that despite the freezing cold weather, we killed two hours without noticing. Worth getting out of bed for, certainly. Jane said she'd stop coming back to visit when I leave, which I found amusing and touching in equal proportions, and that I ought to visit her in Warwick. Specifically, Coventry, which is where she's living now, and I plan to take her up on it. I'm eighteen in January, which makes everything much easier. Heh.
When Jane left, I had to go to lunch and do the whole lessons thing, which was easier said than done, really, considering Miranda was being forced to rehearse for Prizegiving presumably against her will, and I was attempting to get essays together for Balliol. In the afternoon, I was busy photocopying everything in order to send them off and Mrs Barry asked if I needed Mr Evans or Mr Wilson. I said I needed both, and she went to fetch them. They arrived, were helpful, and departed again.
Once they'd gone, she said, "You've got those two well-trained."
"I have?"
"When I said, 'Iona's after you,' they both dropped everything and came running. Very well-trained."
I suppose they are. They're very helpful in any case. I garbbed my photocopies, smiled wryly at the sound of Miranda laughing at me, and ambled off to Biology where it seemed most of the food in Crosby had been acquired. We are still doing the brain and nervous system, and as illustration of the point, played a couple of rounds of Kim's Game. I suck at it, but I didn't mind. It was fun.
And that, really, is that for my first day in a two-term world. Depressing and comedic in equal amounts, which I suppose does say something.
This is not, for once, mere hyperbole. I arrived in school to find Mrs Colvin wanted to chew me out for not going to General yesterday (this is not new) and English had been cancelled and, really, I had the morning off. So I went down to the library and read the Guardian from cover to cover. Well, I tried to. It is, as we all know, a broadsheet. And I am only a little girl and read broadsheets with both hands clutched desperately on each side of the newspaper, and take up so much room that I can't in all politeness read broadhseets on the train. So I was sitting there reading it when suddenly it disappeared. My hands were there, held out in the clutch position, but the newspaper was gone. I blinked.
Mr Evans said, "Hope you don't mind," and went skipping off down the corridor waving my newspaper.
Yes, it would appear he has bounced back. For a given value of it, anyway: he's no longer trudging around as though his entire family have died and is currently at the stage where he's photocopying madly from the newspapers so he can give handouts to all his classes on the election results. I heard the photocopier whirr, then he reappeared and gave back what he stole.
When I finished reading it, I went on to the G2 supplement, and was startled into laughing. I'm assuming a lot of people have seen it, but for those that haven't, instead of the usual picture on the front, it just has a large black block of colour and two small words in white:
Oh, God.
As I said while I was laughing, it's only funny 'cause it's true. Oh, that sweet taste of defeat.
When I finished reading it,
lilka called. She actually arrived mere seconds later, and I threw down all the newspapers. Jane's despair was as palpable as mine; we spent a few minutes bewailing it before I went to see Mrs Colvin. She told me to consider myself told off - yes, told off indeed - and then Jane and I went out to the village. We didn't have anything planned in particular except talking, and acquiring gingerbread in my case, and we sort of wandered to the park where we sat by the duck pond and chatted about politics and fandom.On our way down there, we were accosted by a small blonde boy. He was probably about ten or eleven, with friends, and wanted change for the phone or something. We ignored him and went down to one of the benches. But about ten minutes later, he and his mates ran past by the pond, dropped their shoes by us and their little ringleader grabbed Jane's bag before running for it. Thankfully, Jane was much faster than me. She ran after them and forced the boy to drop the bag, and came running back looking rather startled. I mean, they were about ten. Surely that's too young for a life of delinquency?
Anyway, we returned to the delights of conversation, and I was interested to note that despite the freezing cold weather, we killed two hours without noticing. Worth getting out of bed for, certainly. Jane said she'd stop coming back to visit when I leave, which I found amusing and touching in equal proportions, and that I ought to visit her in Warwick. Specifically, Coventry, which is where she's living now, and I plan to take her up on it. I'm eighteen in January, which makes everything much easier. Heh.
When Jane left, I had to go to lunch and do the whole lessons thing, which was easier said than done, really, considering Miranda was being forced to rehearse for Prizegiving presumably against her will, and I was attempting to get essays together for Balliol. In the afternoon, I was busy photocopying everything in order to send them off and Mrs Barry asked if I needed Mr Evans or Mr Wilson. I said I needed both, and she went to fetch them. They arrived, were helpful, and departed again.
Once they'd gone, she said, "You've got those two well-trained."
"I have?"
"When I said, 'Iona's after you,' they both dropped everything and came running. Very well-trained."
I suppose they are. They're very helpful in any case. I garbbed my photocopies, smiled wryly at the sound of Miranda laughing at me, and ambled off to Biology where it seemed most of the food in Crosby had been acquired. We are still doing the brain and nervous system, and as illustration of the point, played a couple of rounds of Kim's Game. I suck at it, but I didn't mind. It was fun.
And that, really, is that for my first day in a two-term world. Depressing and comedic in equal amounts, which I suppose does say something.
