AS module 1
Mar. 11th, 2004 06:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenOriginally, we were told to come to the lower library at break, for There Awaits Thy Doom. But it didn't work like that. I went up to the common room in the morning and they were all wielding envelopes. I went to get mine, opened it, and:
Chemistry - 82/90 - A
Biology - 86/90 - A
Politics - 100/100 - A
General Studies - 57/90 - C
These are my UMS scores, and have been accordingly moderated. But I'm finding it hard to care about that.
Yeah, I failed General. Oops. I've picked up a resit form, but don't know if I can be arsed. It's General. Fuck General, etc - but then I wonder what will happen if I get four A's for my actual A-levels and a C for it. But I don't care because I don't have to resit Biology because I got an A, I didn't fuck it up, and aaaargh, I can't breathe.
Well, at the time, I couldn't. I flapped my hands about, hugged Becca in a state of extreme emotion, then went with her down to the common room. Mr Evans was there, giving me a well-how-did-you-do? look, Sniffle, sob, "I got full marks...", waah. His expression was priceless. He stared at me for a moment, then said, "Well, parents' evening is going to be a doddle," and wandered off. He called me back, though, and said, "Well done," and sounded a lot like he meant it. He can be so nice when he wants to be.
Everyone was late getting off for lessons, in the whole crazy whirl of delight and despair. I can't believe I don't have to resit Biology. Cannot believe it. I did it. All that angst, but I did it. I wish I could tell Pedar.
I was in a complete dreamworld after that. Went to my morning lessons in a state of somnambulism, and although I had a free, I was good and worked through it, doing all those Chemistry questions, while Becca wrote an exceedingly depressing essay on Death of a Salesman and Bev revised for genetics. We had a rehearsal at lunchtime, and it didn't go too badly. I still don't know their names - I call them by their character names - but even I can see they're getting better.
The afternoon was uneventful, if you ignore Mrs Colvin pontificating about raw scores as opposed to UMS scores (according to her, Chemistry wins out every time, and she's not at all biased) and my being called upon to explain the difference between uninterested and disinterested. I am, as they say, "resident pedant."
Everything that followed was not worth talking about, except our afternoon rehearsal. Mrs Wigmore has finally ceased being ditzy long enough to authorise after-school rehearsals this week. Accordingly, we claimed the lecture room and herded the formlings up there. They're getting better, but Becca is stressed. While she was prompting, Nicola was at the back drawing some of the scenery. I'm always thinking about the irony in our play - Daisy Pulls It Off is a good-natured pastiche of an independent girls' school, complete with pretensions, historical founder, and jolly hockey sticks. And just what is Merchants'? Nicola is basing the Grangewood crest on the Merchants' one - I have to admit I'd never really looked at the Merchants' crest before. It has tents on it. And camels.
Yes. The other part of the scenery is a massive scroll entitled "School Rules" that stretches down the back wall. We had a good time making up rules. My original selection ran:
"No talking. No boys. No kissing (may cause pregnancy). No laughing. No breathing loudly. No thick people. No chewing gum. No communists. No Ofsted inspectors. No Christmas trees. No custard. No escape."
This has been trimmed to:
"No flicking ink." This was because of a certain incident. Some of our dear formlings have been caught flicking ink at Mrs Hurst. Who hit the roof, naturally, and gave each of them six detentions. Which strikes me as midly excessive. Megan wrote this down in capitals and it came out looking like "No fucking ink." Much as we were all tempted to leave that in, in the end the clean version has prevailed. The list goes on: "No swearing. No laughing. No short skirts. No talking. No riffraff. No communists. No excuses."
Emma was doing it, and she only put in the communists because I wouldn't stop bugging her until she did. Thus the formlings were treated to the sight of Becca pulling my hair - "Stop it with the fucking communists!"
Becca is actually a very good director - "Let us now get our arses over there" - and so are the scenery-painters. One of the formlings has been enlisted, a wide-eyed girl named Amber who looks blankly terrified whenever she's asked to do anything. She's helping paint. Hopefully.
And so, we finished up ahead of time, having gone through the entire script with major catastrophe. The Drama Festival is in exactly two weeks.
Chemistry - 82/90 - A
Biology - 86/90 - A
Politics - 100/100 - A
General Studies - 57/90 - C
These are my UMS scores, and have been accordingly moderated. But I'm finding it hard to care about that.
Yeah, I failed General. Oops. I've picked up a resit form, but don't know if I can be arsed. It's General. Fuck General, etc - but then I wonder what will happen if I get four A's for my actual A-levels and a C for it. But I don't care because I don't have to resit Biology because I got an A, I didn't fuck it up, and aaaargh, I can't breathe.
Well, at the time, I couldn't. I flapped my hands about, hugged Becca in a state of extreme emotion, then went with her down to the common room. Mr Evans was there, giving me a well-how-did-you-do? look, Sniffle, sob, "I got full marks...", waah. His expression was priceless. He stared at me for a moment, then said, "Well, parents' evening is going to be a doddle," and wandered off. He called me back, though, and said, "Well done," and sounded a lot like he meant it. He can be so nice when he wants to be.
Everyone was late getting off for lessons, in the whole crazy whirl of delight and despair. I can't believe I don't have to resit Biology. Cannot believe it. I did it. All that angst, but I did it. I wish I could tell Pedar.
I was in a complete dreamworld after that. Went to my morning lessons in a state of somnambulism, and although I had a free, I was good and worked through it, doing all those Chemistry questions, while Becca wrote an exceedingly depressing essay on Death of a Salesman and Bev revised for genetics. We had a rehearsal at lunchtime, and it didn't go too badly. I still don't know their names - I call them by their character names - but even I can see they're getting better.
The afternoon was uneventful, if you ignore Mrs Colvin pontificating about raw scores as opposed to UMS scores (according to her, Chemistry wins out every time, and she's not at all biased) and my being called upon to explain the difference between uninterested and disinterested. I am, as they say, "resident pedant."
Everything that followed was not worth talking about, except our afternoon rehearsal. Mrs Wigmore has finally ceased being ditzy long enough to authorise after-school rehearsals this week. Accordingly, we claimed the lecture room and herded the formlings up there. They're getting better, but Becca is stressed. While she was prompting, Nicola was at the back drawing some of the scenery. I'm always thinking about the irony in our play - Daisy Pulls It Off is a good-natured pastiche of an independent girls' school, complete with pretensions, historical founder, and jolly hockey sticks. And just what is Merchants'? Nicola is basing the Grangewood crest on the Merchants' one - I have to admit I'd never really looked at the Merchants' crest before. It has tents on it. And camels.
Yes. The other part of the scenery is a massive scroll entitled "School Rules" that stretches down the back wall. We had a good time making up rules. My original selection ran:
"No talking. No boys. No kissing (may cause pregnancy). No laughing. No breathing loudly. No thick people. No chewing gum. No communists. No Ofsted inspectors. No Christmas trees. No custard. No escape."
This has been trimmed to:
"No flicking ink." This was because of a certain incident. Some of our dear formlings have been caught flicking ink at Mrs Hurst. Who hit the roof, naturally, and gave each of them six detentions. Which strikes me as midly excessive. Megan wrote this down in capitals and it came out looking like "No fucking ink." Much as we were all tempted to leave that in, in the end the clean version has prevailed. The list goes on: "No swearing. No laughing. No short skirts. No talking. No riffraff. No communists. No excuses."
Emma was doing it, and she only put in the communists because I wouldn't stop bugging her until she did. Thus the formlings were treated to the sight of Becca pulling my hair - "Stop it with the fucking communists!"
Becca is actually a very good director - "Let us now get our arses over there" - and so are the scenery-painters. One of the formlings has been enlisted, a wide-eyed girl named Amber who looks blankly terrified whenever she's asked to do anything. She's helping paint. Hopefully.
And so, we finished up ahead of time, having gone through the entire script with major catastrophe. The Drama Festival is in exactly two weeks.
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no subject
on 2004-03-11 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-03-11 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-03-11 02:29 pm (UTC)What are UMS scores?
Whatever. CONGRATULATIONS!
Bloody commies.
Six detentions sounds like something I'd hand out. Haha. Hahaha. BWAHAHAHAHAHA. (but only with good reason)
no subject
on 2004-03-11 03:13 pm (UTC)Congratulations!!! (With three exclamation points, even. I've been writing about Hemingway and feel the need to punctuate excessively now.) Whatever UMS scores are, you deserve the best possible.
no subject
on 2004-03-12 04:25 am (UTC)*bows in unabashed worship*
And no communists? *giggles*