By popular acclaim I thought I’d share some additional wisdom and frustrations from my teenage self.
I decided to bite the bullet and ask Mr X to give me back some of the essays I had printed off and given him weeks and weeks ago. Certainly a while before half term and possibly even before Christmas. So he rifled around in his big teacher’s diary searching for them, looking rather confused, checking in the next door office, coming back, frowning, as though he had not expected anyone to actually ask for their work back or for it to see the light of day again … finally, however, he gave me a sheet of paper back. […]
Entirely devoid of red pen marking.
I mean, it was almost comical. He just gave it back to me […] just handed it back as though I wanted to admire my own handiwork.
Comment: Oh dear.
Anyway, I won’t need a man, I guess. I will adopt kids and write stories and have a lovely big house and garden.
Comment: Still true 😉
English was a joke. For Section B: Writing to Inform, Explain or Describe, we were told to explain our dreams and ambitions for the future. I rambled on for about three pages about my job […] Obviously I didn’t get too in depth about this because I don’t want all the teachers knowing about my secret plans! […] Anyway, I think I got slightly carried away describing the pool, the Jacuzzis, the bouncy room where the floor, ceiling and walls are all bouncy like a huge trampoline, and describing my plans to build another house to house beggars and homeless people.
Comment: I’m quite surprised I got an A* talking about the bouncy room with bouncy walls.
Here’s a list of all the people who hate me: Susan*, Philomena*, Derek*, my own mother, probably my father, and probably lots of other people that I don’t know about.
Comment: Probably not true.
I am a loner with no friends
Comment: Wasn’t true.
I don’t have MSN or Bebo and I don’t download music from the internet. Like everyone else does. Because my sad family does not have Broadband
Comment: Dial-up internet made me who I am
There was a test in the Telegraph magazine – the only magazine I’m allowed to read. To see how lonely you were. I scored High Loneliness.
Comment: I probably exaggerated my answers. LOL
My hips are as big as a barge
Comment: Great metaphor
*Note: some names have been changed.
Basically, I got into school this morning, thinking that the only drama would be me and my cocktail-stick-impaled foot – an exciting story to tell. But I got in, and a group of girls were there talking about the party.
Comment: My friends went to parties; I stood on cocktail sticks. I’ll let you decide which is more exciting.
I really do not approve of him at the moment.
Comment: I loved to pass comment.
My fingers will get Repetitive Shock Syndrome if I don’t stop typing now.
Comment: That’s not a disease that exists.
Well, at least I keep my sense of humour. I smiled incredulously and threw my pen down and refused to work
Comment: I was obviously dealing with the situation with grace and humour
Someone once told me that ‘hurst’ was a swear word. How dumb was I to believe them
Comment: Not much has changed.
I have recently been coming to conclusions that you don’t actually need friends
Comment: It was probably Philomena’s fault.
The other night, just briefly, I was thinking philosophical thoughts and I felt I was really getting to the crux of the meaning of life and stuff. But I fell asleep at some point and have forgotten it.
Ah, how different might my life have been, if fourteen-year-old me had been sensible enough to record her philosophical epiphanies for the benefit of the world. Readers, you’ve no doubt been deprived of a gem. Instead here we are, still floundering around trying to avoid our besetting demons, while groping towards some truth we can lay a finger on and claim to understand. I’ll leave you with two further pieces of valuable instruction from my fifteen-year-old pen, if you can first wade through the irrelevant banalities that I inevitably open with: