So, for the purposes of pointlessness, my school have decided to keep us for another 17 and a half hours. Not quite as lengthy as the 127 hours James Franco endured in the 2010 movie, but I would bet it to be more painful. Inevitably, this will consist of films in foreign language, cake sales and arid assemblies with harshly repetitive hand-clapping.
It would be fine if I knew anyone in an alternative school in the same situation but it seems not. Many broke up weeks ago. Over in the land of leprechauns, I’m told, a pupil is already half way through his summer holidays despite returning to school within the same sodding September week we are. So he gets double our holidays.
All this would be so much more brilliantly bearable if England was acting like it’s normal, dreary self. But no. It has to be scorching whilst I sit in a sweaty sports hall listening to Dool the fool talk about how fantastic it is to have gathered the whole school to listen to him and watch Mr. Randerson’s big hands flail about aimlessly.
Normal people might be buying an ice cream whilst I watch a promotional video for Neston High School which, in case they hadn’t noticed, I ALREADY GO TO and therefore do not need to be persuaded by video-voices telling me we’re a specialist college. “Yeah, we really are special” I think to myself sarcastically.
productive procrastinating 