Bloody School! (Part Two)

Well, yes. Bloody school indeed. Today was the second of the two days I had to attend school during the holidays (there must be laws against that sort of thing - I may look it up), and as I had radically less things to do today, boredom reared its ugly head.

One thing that was bloody interesting was form time. No, wait, interesting is the wrong word altogether. No. Entertaining. Well, it was certainly a new experience. Different, if you catch my drift, as to say. For I have the Grand High Sultan of Bumbling, Mister Kevin Frimston, as my form tutor. Oh, what fun. And I say that with an unusual level of honesty. I like Mr Frimston, and expect him to be a lovable, terrible but generally entertaining tutor.
He arrived about fifteen minutes late, but we expected no less from a man such as he. He then proceeded to get nearly everyone's names wrong. Unfortunately, he didn't trip over the litter bin, something that I very much expected him to do. This lack of slapstick on Mr Frimston's part imbued me with a slight wistful melancholy that lasted all day. I wanted to see him fall.

The only real lesson I had today was English Language, taught by my English teacher from last year. Miss (or Ms) Adlam is one of the best teachers I know, and I was therefore thoroughly chuffed when I read my timetable yesterday and found that I would be having lessons with her in the future. Now, at the time, I didn't know that these induction days weren't an accurate depiction of who we would have for certain lessons and what not, but more of a way of getting to know the ropes and what have you. But my false sense of glee at the thought of Miss Adlam teaching me English Language was verified in the actual lesson, when she mentioned that it was most likely. So whoop-de-doo on that front. Fiddle-de-dee and so forth.

Besides from that jollity, I had a lovely free period between break-time and lunchtime, clocking my time spent slouching on a big leather sofa in the common room to a grand total of two wonderful hours. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, bliss.

Despite the large quantities of relaxation I got through today, I was still knackered; my body clock is still in Summer Holiday mode, and as a result I rarely got more than three and a half hours sleep prior to each of these two bizarre days. This didn't work for me today; most of the day (when I wasn't slouching, anticipating inevitable failure on the part of a notorious teacher or discussing alternative meanings to newspaper headlines) consisted of talks about 6th Form and what we are to expect and what there is to do. I am sorry to report that by period 4, I was involuntarily slipping into minor comas. Which is a terrible affliction when you are sat in the front row of the hall, with Mr Newbold (who looks a little bit like Jim Carrey half-way through his prosthetic transformation into Count Olaf) literally a couple of yards away. It was a small miracle that I wasn't caught.

What was really nice was that the debriefing, during the last period of the day, only lasted half an hour, and I was able to retire with my chums to the common room for twenty minutes or so before catching the bus home. Jolly pleasant. Puts a fellow in good spirits, you know.

Not much else happened. So I'm finished. You can leave now.