Three Toblerones and a Plastic Duck

Okay, to all you non-existant avid readers of my blogs, I’m sorry, as it’s a day short of 2 weeks since I last wrote a blog. So soz’ard. But with a few exceptions, nothing that exciting has happened since the first week of work experience.

My second week of work experience past without incident, and as a thankyou present to everyone, I bought a card, three toblerones and a plastic ornamental garden duck, which seemed to be the highlight. So next time I or my parents go into Tanners, we must ask of the duck (maybe in the vain hope of a discount).

On the Wednesday of the second week of work experience, I came home to find a letter on the worktop, addressed to me. Well, I say me, but school, of all people, had spelt my name wrong on the address. The people who have my name on every register, record and piece of work that I’ve ever had anything to do with spelt my name with an s. Curses go to my parents (for giving the awkwardly spelt, Scottish name (God knows why, we have no Scottish connections)) and in some parts to America (who’s stupid TV sitcom ‘Frasier’ has meant my name has been pronounced and spelt wrong by anyone new to me). Anyway, I opened up this letter, which I found asked me to go to a meeting on Monday about being senior prefect (i.e. Head Boy). After a pause, and a run around the (empty) house screaming, I decided to celebrate by eating some breadsticks (sod the Moët, which I’d been working with for the last week and a half anyway).

So, off I toddled to school on Monday, rather nervous and thinking up answers to all the possible questions I could think up in my head. I later found that the only contenders I had were Oli Longland, who I get on quite well with and… Tarquin! Yes yes, you might laugh at the name, but really, it’s as prattish as he is. This is the same person who has in the past stabbed me (in the chest) with a pen, ripped my T-shirt (making it look like a boob-tube) and told Kim (South African) that she should F***k off back to her own country (causing Kim to cry) just because she told him to shut up. On top of this, his trousers are way to short, he has an annoying voice, he tries to act ‘ard all the time and thinks of himself even more so because he does kick-boxing; also, there’s hilarious videos on Bebo (social networking site) of him punching a punch bag, which are so obviously sped up. What a bastard, you might be thinking, and you’d be right. Socially, he is looked down upon by nearly everyone for these exact reasons. Anyway, I went to this meeting (I was the first out of three boys and four girls up for the jobs) that was being conducted by Miss. Youngs and Mr. Sherwin. This involved a variety of questions, including “What do you think the job would involve?”, “Describe yourself in three words” etc. I thought the interview went okay, but not brilliant.

“Oli, Tarquin and Frazer, could you please go to the foyer at break-time”. Two hours! That’s how long I had to wait from getting that message from my tutor to finding out the result of my interview. So, after this agonising period of time, all seven of us met in the foyer and were then taken into Mr. Thompson’s (the Head’s) office. But rather than just telling us who had gotten what, he proceeded to waffle for another agonising five minutes. Just bloody get on with it and tell us! And he did, in a rather casual manner. So now you’re reading the blog of the Corbet School’s head boy (Y). The deputy head boy is Oli, meaning that Tarquin got diddly-squat! Ha!
So all that was left to do was receive the badge off the previous year’s head boy in the 40 minute, end of year assembly, in which all of years 7, 8, 9 and 10 (about 600 pupils) are squashed into the hall. Great. But thankfully that went without incident.

In other news, my (French) Spanish teacher, Mrs. Chudleigh, is leaving, as her (English) husband has got a job in Devon and she too is going with him. I think this is a real shame, as she was really nice to our (small-ish) Spanish group, and even brought in Orangina and brioche (not very Spanish) on our last lesson. Despite this, the rest of the school says that she is a total cow in other lessons, and gives out after-schools rather un-necessarily. But anyway, she was nice to us, so I don’t really care.

Well I’m off to Yorkshire tomorrow morning with Kim, Georgi and her parents until Thursday, so if anyone is stalking me, please follow closely (I wouldn’t want you to miss me).