It's goodnight from me...

As the year draws to a close, I'm afraid I have some sad news... What, are you going to continue in the new year? Shut up, I didn't ask you. Keep your hair on! As I was saying. I have some sad news. Tomorrow we are going on holiday, and I will not be able to sustain my usual torrent of online wit... Who're you kidding? Do you mind? I'm busy. Anyway, on my return I would be able to start posting again, but I start school again on the same day. So until a good deal later, it's goodbye. See you in the new year!

Part Eight: The spiritual side

 A little while later, Mr. Torrall – the R.S. teacher – made an announcement in the staff room.  “The police are letting this matter get out of hand, so I’ve hired someone decent to clear this whole shambles up.”  “They won’t stay for long,” warned the head sarcastically. “As soon as they see what’s happened to me, they’ll be off in a flash!”  “Unlike your idea, headmaster, this one can be carried out in the safety of the school building,” retorted Mr. Torrall acidly. “I’ve hired a medium to find out who and where this killer is.”  “A medium!” spluttered the headmaster; spraying the tea he was drinking all over the staff room. “Don’t tell me you believe in that airy-fairy spiritual stuff!”  “I’m an R.S. teacher,” Mr. Torrall replied simply, “it’s my job.” And at that he walked out, looking slightly put out.

More on the Internet (or How to get the best out of your connection)

One of the main problems, or sometimes attractions, of the Internet is that it can do very strange things to your life. One of the strangest things is that it can be a help and a hindrance almost simultaneously, being both the perfect organisational, social and recreational complement to today's world and the distraction that can completely and utterly ruin your freshly organised, socialised and recreated world. It takes a gargantuan attention span not to wander even slightly, at worst close to indefinitely, from a task involving the world wide wonder, and - as I have found out several times to my cost - it can push everything else off your schedule pretty quickly. Having said all this, it's only fair that I put forward the other side of the argument, namely that one of the main problems/attractions of life is its strange effect on the Internet. Everyday goings on fill blogs worldwide, social networking sites allow similar people to come into contact, consumer demands cause more businesses to plunge into the age of the web. And, although it may not always be safe, it will remain interesting for evermore. The Internet may well doom us all, but who can imagine a more enjoyable doom?

The Perils of the Internet

Yes, perils. Small innocuous-looking web pages and features that, within milliseconds, have reduced your browser to a heap of smouldering code. Basically, what I'm trying to say in a rather roundabout and vastly exaggerated way is that I have, on this very day, been a 'victim' of a minor peril of my own. From this site, no less! Before I begin, I think I ought to say that I bear a grudge against neither Google nor Blogger. It would take somebody saving my life (or possibly paying a large amount of money into my bank account) to push either of them off the top of my 'people I didn't know about until they made a fairly large impact on my life' list. But I digress. On with the story! Actually, there's not that much to be said. For a few minutes, Blogger had a little panic and decided that the great evil hacker hordes had swept down on me and converted me into a super-fast, super-intelligent and undeniably evil piece of malware. Google soon cottoned on to this however. With the great, automated hand of Internet justice, they redirected me to their specially set-up apology site where I could view the aforementioned information but do no harm to the peaceful, law-abiding citizens of Google-ville. Eventually their system let me back on, none the wiser. Like all good stories, there is a moral to this cautionary tale. If a site doesn't like you:

1. It's probably not personal (although you never know).
2. If you wait, the problem may pass.
3. There are plenty of other places to go, if all else fails.

I'm back again...

...and I'm angry! Well... not exactly. I'm certainly worn out. But, after a hectic first few days of the holidays, I think I'm just about ready to settle back into the old routine again. So, let's tackle the important parts one by one, shall we? After my customer satisfaction survey, I find myself looking at a veritable mountain of comments. Then I switch back to my own blog, and see absolutely zilch. Such is life. Secondly, you may be interested to learn that I am touch-typing this entry. Not particularly special, you may say. But considering that none of my other entries are thus typed and that my WPM was, last time I checked, absolutely appalling, I think I'm doing OK. It's more like 'snail on caffeine' than 'snail on sedatives' now, at least. Thirdly, if all goes well, I will be blogging a little more frequently from now on (i.e. I will actually be blogging). This is because it is on a little list of things I would like to do. So now, you can enjoy my wonderful posts at any time! (Don't get carried away - Ed.*) Bye for now! * OK, so I don't have an editor, but I can dream, can't I?

Some questions

I'm sure you've all been waiting for my next post with great anticipation. You've lost sleep over what I was going to say next, yearned for something to happen. Your need for my witty and intellectual observances has led you up to, perhaps beyond, the bounds of sanity... Who on earth am I kidding? If anyone has anything better to do than read this, I don't blame you. If you're still with me, however, read on... I've decided that, if I'm going to get anywhere, I need to know who's actually going to be interested in where I get. So, it's Customer Satisfaction Survey time!

1. Are you, have you ever been or do you intend to be affiliated with any Communist organisation? (optional)
2. How long have you been reading this blog?
3. What led you to this blog? (e.g. link, friend told you, unfortunate accident etc.)
4. What do you like/not like about this blog? (this is not a trick question)
5. How often do you visit this blog?
6. What sort of content would you like to see on this blog (within reason)?
7. Would you recommend this blog to someone else?

Answers on a postcard (although comments are easier).

Part Seven: Things get moving

Chapter 2: The Awakenings

 “What’s happening? I came as fast as I could.”  “I’m not sure. I think he’s waking up!”  “That’s a relief, he was looking absolutely awful!”  “…find him!”  “Good heavens! Is that you, headmaster?”  “Good God, my leg feels…WHAT!?” The headmaster was up like a shot, staring around in horror. “What the dickens happened to the pavilion?”  “You passed out rather badly.” Said a member of staff, unrecognisable through the head’s haze of concussion. “We found you the next morning.”  “Oh.” Said the head, feeling distinctly drained. “What day is it?” “Thursday.” Replied the teacher, now recognisable as Mr. Barnston, the football coach. The head groaned and desperately tried to will himself back into unconsciousness. Not Thursday! That was when the school council met up, or was supposed to meet up. If it weren’t for the ISI, they probably wouldn’t even have had a school council. As it was, they did have one, but they got around the hassle of holding meetings by never having any. After all, they only said you had to have a school council. But this Thursday there was an inspector coming round, so they would have to have a meeting to avoid any Awkward Discussions. One thing always to avoid with school inspectors was an Awkward Discussion, as the head knew from bitter experience. If the head had his way he would probably just ditch the whole idea and turn to oligarchy, it was just so much more efficient. He wondered whether it was worth asking which Thursday it was, but decided that if someone had been unconscious for that long then there wouldn’t be much hope left for them. Then suddenly a thought hit him.  “You don’t happen to know what infernal device managed to put me out of action for so long?” he queried.  “As a matter of fact, we do.” Replied Mrs. Reander, one of the other staff present. “The police said they were going to send an expert round to look at it, but it’s still here.” She pointed to a battered-looking contraption in the corner of the room. There was something strange about it, but the head couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It wasn’t constructed as such; it looked more as if the necessary parts had gravitated into roughly the correct positions. However it had come into being, it certainly looked murderous. Even more worrying, it was still loaded with its ammunition of cricket balls. The head winced. “The D.T. teacher tried to take it apart on Tuesday;” added Mrs. Reander, “he woke up a few hours before you did.” This was more than the head could stand. Clutching various items of furniture as he went, he staggered out of the room.

More pictures

Here's some more photos for your consumption. These are from a family trip to London: The London Eye A boat, as seen from the Eye A squirrel A small bird on the Eye The pictures are much better quality now, because they were taken with my new camera. I'm very pleased with them, and I hope you like them too.

Some photos

I think it's time we had some pictures here. These are some that I took on a visit to my grandparents. A lone cow. The local poplar plantation (one of many). A lone sheep. I would make these pictures bigger, but Blogger doesn't like me uploading them any larger than 'small'. It's probably for the best, as the camera used for these shots is getting fairly old (for a camera). Anyway, enjoy!

The marvels of technology

As people go, I'm quite good at hoarding the most ridiculous pieces of junk ever seen by man.* One of them, however, has become rather a favourite of mine. In essence, it is an ancient static electricity generator. By pumping the handle on it as hard and fast as you can, you are supposed to be able to generate a very pleasing spark between two pieces of wire quite close to each other. For reasons unknown, it no longer works, but for reasons even less known you can still get a fair zap out of a strange and presumably meaningless piece of protruding metal that I swear wasn't there before. It will quite happily give a mild jolt to anything vaguely conductive which, to my not-entirely-pleasant surprise, includes me. With a bit of hard work I found that I could create a most satisfactory arc between the metal and my finger, albeit quite painful on my part. Although it's all very well being able to charge yourself up from time to time, I wouldn't recommend it. Not of course, that everyone has a pump-handle-spark 'n' shock-generator. * Or woman, for that matter.

Part Six: The head volunteers

 Late that evening a figure crept furtively up to the pavilion, grumbling as it went. The headmaster rubbed his hands together and half-heartedly attempted to bring down a curse on all teaching staff. He’d never seen such a bunch of wimps! It was amazing; he thought bitterly, how quickly someone could contract a contagious disease.  Eventually, he reached the pavilion and cautiously peered in through a knot in the wood. There seemed to be someone – or something – in there, but he couldn’t make it out what it was. That didn’t matter, he would teach the blighter a lesson anyway. Drawing deeply from his courage reserves, he stormed in.  “Come out of there now, you filthy scoundrel!” he cried, with a commanding air that surprised even him. “I know you’re in there!” he added as an afterthought. Suddenly, there was a loud crack from the doorpost beside him as though something had hit it. Whatever had hit it, it then proceeded to hit the headmaster’s leg. “@§%¶¿ªǂɿ!” He yelled, utilising the author’s character set to its full extent. Slowly the pain in his leg turned to numbness, lifeless numbness that spread all through his body. As it reached his head, he gradually slumped to the ground.  “That bounder is going to pay for it when I…” Then a loud thud. Then silence.

Being Green

Actually, it's easier than it's made out to be. Here, for example, are some of the things we do to keep green:

1. Composting: We have, as you've probably guessed from my last post, a compost bin. And, as compost bins go, it's a pretty good one. You put garden waste in one end and (eventually) lovely, nutrient rich compost comes out the other. But you probably knew that. What you probably didn't know is my 3 Interesting Things you can Do with your Compost Bin. They are:
   1. With only some ping pong balls, an egg whisk, a sink plunger, a broom handle, a broken web cam and some imagination, you can make it into a Dalek.
   2. You can harvest flies from it to feed your pet tarantula (if you have one).
   3. You can, at the right temperature, grow mushrooms of varying toxicity in it.
   But most importantly, you can improve your green credentials. Would you rather let your clippings rot into an insubstantial, useless and foul smelling mush at the bottom of a landfill site, or let them rot into a more substantial and useful (although admittedly still foul smelling) mush at the bottom of your compost bin? Waste them or use them? The choice is yours.
2. Recycling: This is the biggie of all environmental issues, the one that pressure groups always nag you about. And with good reason. It takes a lorra lorra metal and energy to produce a can, and we haven't got an infinite supply of it. Sure, we can get energy from sustainable sources such as wind farms, but where the heck are we going to get all that metal from? Recycling! You've seen the adverts: Your can could end up as a plane, train, automobile etc. Now isn't that exciting? Well, not particularly, but at least it means we use a lot less metal. Not, of course, that it's just metal you can recycle. Paper, glass, plastic, those magic little men at the council will take anything and turn it into anything else. Or, if you like your rubbish, you can reuse it. Put all you ingredients into plastic bottles. Get your children into junk modelling. Donate your old clothes, toys, pets, unwanted kids etc. to charity. Do anything, but don't throw it into a landfill site!
3. Anything else you can think of: You know the sort of thing I mean: Drive less, buy organic, don't buy peat. It all adds up to a better planet.

Blog Action Day

Blog Action Day This is a neat concept whereby, for one day only, an awful lot of blogs talk about the same thing. There's some pretty A-list blogs taking part, such as Google and a host of others. And then there's the lesser known blogs, who are posting nonetheless. And then there's me, posting for the benefit of about three people and a computer literate sheepdog.* Anyway, this year's thing is the environment and, game as I am for anything, I will be writing about it tomorrow. Then, you'll be able to hear all about my compost bin. Whoopee! * They do get bored of rounding up sheep, you know.

Part Five: The head has a cunning plan

 Later that day, the headmaster had a dangerous thought. Although he didn’t particularly hold with the whole concept of danger, it took him as being a good way to have this investigation malarkey over with once and for all. Indeed, when he thought about it some more, he realised that there needn’t be any danger at all. The idea was this: If you want something doing properly, do it yourself. Or rather, get someone else to do it for you. There was one thing the head knew helped make for a successful career, and that was delegation. Anyway, he would get someone to investigate the incident for him, but he would be in complete control. All he had to do now was find a willing mug…ahem…volunteer.

Warwick Castle

Last week, we went to Warwick Castle. It's expensive, but worth it. Once in, you can make your own way around the attractions. We watched the trebuchet display, those things are lethal! And boy oh boy, they don't half fling things a long way. You could kill some poor unsuspecting peasant in the next village with one of those. The archery was interesting, too. A good archer could do more than a dozen arrows per minute! Rather than have me bore you with details, you can take a look at their website here: www.warwick-castle.co.uk. Even better (and more realistic), go there. It's a nice place.

And so, without further ado...

...I declare this blog open! For those of you who were wondering where all those posts were coming from out of the blue, I've been moving my old blog over here. Now that I'm done, I can get on with some new posts and a fresh start. A fresh start? Yep. Let's just say that 'Punctual' and 'Bothered' were never my middle names.* But I intend to change that! So expect to see entries on anything, everything and the rest. Today, the Internet! Tomorrow, the world! Here endeth the lesson. * It's true. In fact, I don't have any.

Part Four: In which the murderer, and a dog, strike again.

 “Not another one!” Cried the headmaster in dismay, once again in confrontation with the inspector. “How long will two murders take to investigate?”  “As long as necessary, sir.” The policeman replied, employing the age-old tactic of question evasion. “With a serial killer involved, it could take months.”  “It was a member of staff as well.” The head sighed. “I mean, pupils we can overlook…”  “No-one must be overlooked, sir!” insisted the policeman, skipping from ‘tepid’ up to ‘bubbling’. “Your pupils are no less important, if not more important, than your members of staff!”  “Now, now, no need to get tetchy.” Said the headmaster, offended. “The pupils are obviously of more concern to you than to us, I see that. But if the government can’t keep these homicidal chaps under control, then it’s hardly our fault is it?”  It was the policeman’s turn to be cutting reply-less. Casting desperately around the study, in which they were currently residing, he caught sight of a new officer clumsily fingerprinting the head’s terrier. Hastily he made off.  “When I said ‘fingerprint everything’, Spanton, I didn’t actually mean… Ouch! Blasted dog.” The head allowed himself a secret smile. He had always thought ‘Nipper’ was a very appropriate name.

Idle musings of a Clock Watcher

We're going home late at night and it's taking years! Just look at the clock! 20:27 - A good year. 20:28 - Oh, there's the Olympics! 20:29 - There go the Olympics. 20:30 - A new decade. 20:31 - The Olympics are coming! 20:32 - Shock horror! Vatican gets the Olympics! 20:33 - Third multiple of 11 since... no, wait a minute... 20:34 - *frantic calculations* 20:35 - ...20:35! And here it is! Some multiple of something since sometime a while ago. 20:36 - Isle of Wight gets the Olympics. 20:37 - Japan makes surprise entry to Eurovision and wins! 20:38 (approx) - DJ on radio moans about spiders. Wimp! 20:39 - It's Olympics time again! 20:40 - Trinidad gets the Olympics. Are we nearly there yet?

Part Three: The saga never ends!

 Meanwhile, in the cricket pavilion, Mr. Mallock was trying to do both of these things at the same time. With the teachers being ousted from everywhere else, he was lucky to have got there before the others. He’d always said his class needed to get more exercise.  Sir, can I? Whack! Ouch! Sir? Sir? Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!  Mallock surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Several boys were nursing their bruises, several more were unconscious, and the survivors were tactfully cowering in the corner. He had always prided himself on his solid palm, and it had undoubtedly done its job. There was another whack, but this time it wasn’t him.  It was a cricket bat, and this time he was the one being whacked.

Part Two: The thrills continue...

 “I still don’t see what all the bother is about,” sighed the headmaster, thrusting the crime report back into the inspector’s hands, “it’s not as if anyone is going to miss the little nuisance.”  “The police must treat all suspicious incidents with extreme caution, sir.” The policeman replied, thinking it an appropriate phrase for the current situation. “Besides, we don’t get many cases of schoolboys lying in pools of blood. Especially their own blood.”  “He was asking for it,” the head snorted, “it’ll be the last time he ever tries to dodge lessons.”  “There are no excuses for murder, sir.” Retorted the policeman, his mental saucepan of water rising from ‘tepid’ to ‘simmering’. “If we don’t catch the culprit soon, you could be the next victim.” He had worked with the headmaster’s kind too many times before. They didn’t do things for the good of the public; they did things for the good of themselves. As he had expected, the head suddenly looked flustered and adjusted his collar nervously. He continued. “So long as no-one interferes we can do this quickly and easily, and we’ll try not to disturb you too much.”  Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, the head strode off feeling irritable. Coming to the games board, he surveyed the position of the enemy – as he liked to call the boys. It was afternoon by now, and a Monday afternoon at that.¹ Monday afternoons were the work of Lucifer, he was sure of it. There were a predictably vast number of names under ‘Venezuela’², and he decided against cross-referencing with the dog-eared signing-in book. Boys neglected to sign in and out at their own peril.  ‘Why Venezuela?’ he thought to himself. Did it look like Venezuela? Was it related to Venezuela in any way? Were the people there complete strangers whose language and ways you couldn’t even comprehend? He decided not to answer the last one. Instead, he strode some more. Irritably. Suddenly a boy came up to him, looking worried.  “Sir, sir, the policemen have taken over our classroom and we can’t get in and we don’t know what to do and what are we going to…”  The headmaster caught the boy a slap around the face without even breaking his stride. As the boy staggered away, he tried to remember who it was. He had never held with knowing boys’ names. After all, you only needed to teach them…and hit them occasionally.  ¹ After considerable pressure from several groups including the ISI (Independent Schools Inspectorate, if you must know), Ofsted and - for some bizarre reason – Oxfam, the school had been forced to make Monday a half day. The main reason, however, was that if they didn’t the NSPCC might get involved. Personally, the headmaster thought the RSPCA would have been more of a problem.  ² A large wooded area used as a sustainable alternative to the boys venting their ‘excess energy’ on the school buildings and/or staff. Strangely, it was one of the few things the ISI had never investigated in particular detail.

Part One: The story begins...

Orb of Ages Period the First: High on a Hill or Lessons in Murder

Chapter 1: Them

 With the wary looks of a professional, Aaron slipped cautiously down the main corridor. Ducking into every doorway, he made his way with meticulous care. There was, he knew, no need for such precautions yet; but They struck without predictability. At the last room he pressed his body to the wall, and with perfect timing. For at the other end of the corridor, shoes started moving with familiar, rhythmic slaps in his direction. They were here. His breathing became unstable, despite his efforts to restrict it. The footsteps rang in his ears louder and louder, his breath came out faster and faster and faster and…  The footsteps stopped. His hand instinctively slid down to his trousers, protecting the eternally bruised band of muscle. Indistinct mumblings echoed into the room and thundered around his mind. He mustn’t lose his nerve now, but how tempting it was to rush out and beg Them for mercy. Yet, slowly and uncertainly, the footsteps started again. Waiting until the echoes finally died away, he let out his contained breath in a prolonged sigh.  Sometimes, he thought, skiving lessons was barely worth the trouble. It was the last thing he ever thought. Gripping, eh? Tune in next week for the second gripping installment!

Les vacances, ils sont presque arrives!

You thought I wasn't going to get my blog done on time, didn't you? (Blog, what a weird word!) Well, you thought wrong! As to the title of this entry, I can only hope you know French. Only joking, it says "The holidays, they're almost here!"* And how true it is. After a frenetic, exciting and, at times, sweaty term, there's only a week to go! Then, it's the summer holidays!!! On to other topics now. Boarding is fine (though not as good as home!) and I think *insert doubtful expression here* that the others have got used to me. I am currently writing a book (yes, you did read that right), though I intend to share it with the world for free. I'm going to post the first part of it here next week, and from then on it can be a serial (that way I have time to write some more of it!). Bear in mind, however, that it'll only happen if the small soggy lump of sawdust that passes as my memory doesn't fail me. Still, I have hope! I'm afraid my 'I want to do this' tank is running a bit dry, so this entry will have to stop here. Third, Choules the Third * Why use French? Because I'm too clever for my own good.** ** And modest, too.

Just in time...

...to get my blog done! This time, my sudden weekday appearance is no fluke. This is, believe it or not, a delight of independent schooling (or at least, my independent school) known as an exeat. This is, if you like, an 'extended weekend', although in which direction (before or after) the extension takes place is by no means predictable. I have *consults computer clock* 13 minutes remaining before I go back tonight, but I just have time to write this (I hope!). Hopefully I will get it done sooner next week, as I'm afraid I haven't got time to say much more. In much the same way as before, my school beckons. Farewell! Choules 3

I'm back again!

But it's only by fluke! You see, I decided (well, I didn't have much choice) that what I wanted to do for my weekend at home was to catch cold. Some passing germs, always ready to lend a hand, obliged. I'm going back to school this morning, and I've decided not to keep you lot in suspense. A much nicer surprise came yesterday in the form of a new keyboard. Rather unhelpfully, it didn't come with any software that could pick up the MIDI signals it sent down its USB cable. However, I have managed to find a program called SimpleSynth, although simple is definitely the word. Still, it's better than nothing. I must go, my school beckons. Choules III

I'm back!

So you thought you could get rid of me, eh? This is like that part in the horror movie where everyone thinks the monster is dead, but then it just 'appears' again. I can only hope that you take a slightly more optimistic view on me.Anyway, what was I going to say? Oh yes, exams (shock horror!). Lots of exams (double shock horror!), and some of them one and a half hours long (double shock gulp horror!). And that means revision (double shock double gulp horror!), which is what I've been doing all this time. And when I get back to school (tonight!) I'm going to start boarding (double shock double gulp horror horror scream!). All of this explains my variable mood, jumping between:

• A smidgen worried.
• Mildly sad, rather sad and everything in between.
• Utterly terrified.

I'm sure it'll be alright, though.

But before you go off and feel depressed, some news. We went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3 yesterday (very good, watch it!), and are going to the Reading Museum today. We were planning on visiting a stately home, but Berkshire is a little on the rainy side today *laughs sarcastically*. On the computing side of things, I have downloaded Jave. A clever little program, it allows you to create ASCII art just like that... ...'Just like what?', I hear you cry. 'Like that!' I reply. I'm smarter than I look. Here is an example: ______ / ____ \ / /____\ \_______________ \________|@______________\ / ______ |_______________/ \ \____/ / \______/ Cool, isn't it?All for now, bye!

Mixed box

As you heard, I have taken the pledge against Doctor Who. If you too wish to join Overanxious Anonymous, please drop a comment! In the meantime, I hand you over to Prof. Lazarus and his dedicated psychiatrist: Shrink: So, Mr. Lazarus, do enjoy your life as a horribly deformed lobster-thing? Lazarus: Frankly, no. People scream, run away and even try to kill me, would you believe it? And there's more... Shrink: No? Lazarus: Oh yes. Despite the fact that I can destroy iron bulkheads and crush coconuts without batting a limb, I'm still ineligible for the Mr. Universe competition! Shrink: So life's not great? Lazarus: You're quick. Say, you look tasty. Slurp, slurp. Shrink: I'll refer you to a plastic surgeon, is that good? Lazarus: Great! He'll do for afters! But don't go yet! There's more! I learned from my sister that there is a poem to do with children leaving assembly. Great! Those with the insanity to read/listen to it are treated to the varied manners in which they leave. For instance, Mrs. Water's class trickled out. Bored yet? Do not fear! For here (to quote an American phrase) is my two cents: Mr. Procrastinator's class left it until tomorrow. Mrs. Indecision's class weren't too sure, or maybe they were... Miss. Atheist's class didn't believe it was time to go yet... ...and Ms. Skeptic's class weren't convinced either. Mr. Communist's class thought they all ought to have left at the same time. Mrs. Pessimist's class didn't see the point. And Miss. Apathetic's class just couldn't be bothered. Some quick news. I'm listening to Classic FM (not the Yugoslavian version that I had previously) and I'm going to see a recording of I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue this evening. I need a lie down now!

Quickly quick quickie

I will not be watching Doctor Who tomorrow. When they start coming up with stuff usually found in dodgy fish restaurants, my precious hours of sleep drop fast. No thank you! Byee!

Goings on

I am currently taking advantage of a Wednesday evening at home to write this, that's why I love the summer term. This is just a quick update. For reasons unknown, my school managed to lose the entire of last week into the administrative ether. Don't ask me where it went, it just went. I slept so badly the night before that I may well have really missed out a week. Just one more thing before I go. I looked at the monster for next week's Doctor Who in the Radio Times. I do not suggest you do likewise. Yours very worriedly, Choules 3

The week past

My faithful computer tells me it is 19:10, so I may have left this a little late. Still, better late than never. Turns out I will be doing the aforementioned French trip after all. The French teacher seems adamant that we all come, and it should be good fun. Then again, why don't we go somewhere different? Oh, well, France is nice. I've been quite busy recently, they certainly plunge you into it here. We've got a large blank display board to fill with rather few pieces of paper. I think we've got it sorted, though. Adios, amigas! Choules 3

So, then...

...my first few days back at school! This does, unfortunately, mean that I am only going to be able to post at the weekends. Mind you, that's probably a significant improvement. As I lay in bed the night before I went back, it took only a small calculation to work out that I spend 11 hours a day - 11! - at school. After another small calculation, I worked out that if I had gone to school since birth I would have spent around five and a half years there! And most of the rest would have been sleeping. However, I am of course missing out a myriad of other factors. I have half an hour of break-time, about the same amount of quiet reading time in the afternoon, a games session, plenty of time for activities and mealtimes. Plus ample holiday time. It's not all bad. Still...11 hours!

Oh...

...the things that have been happening! Let's start from the beginning (of the holidays that is): Firstly, my school choir went on a trip to France. Being a chorister myself, I went too. After several days of singing (of course), interesting activities, traumatic experiences on the minibus and similarly frenzied experiences in the 'supermarché', I came home to find a letter detailing another French trip. Non, non, et thrice non! The rest of the holiday has so far progressed in the usual way: taking the occasional walk, catching up on reading or just enjoying the weather... Ah. Not very good weather at the moment. But then you can't expect it to be sunny all the time, can you? Well you can if you live in the Sahara, but living in Berkshire, England doesn't give that much of an impression of the Sahara. Until later, but not much later (I'm Spartacus!) 3, Choules 3