Venus And Serena

Now that I have finally finished my exams (and yes, I did manage to fit The Rocky Horror Picture Show into my Advanced English question, and yes, I am proud of myself), I have decided that this summer, I am going to use my time wisely. I am not going to squander my precious three months on sitting in my pyjamas, eating toast, and watching the tennis, no. Instead, I will go and volunteer in a soup kitchen. I will learn the bassoon. I will teach myself to french manicure my nails. I will donate ALL of my blood.

This was the intention.

Unfortunately, as I type this, I am sitting on my sofa, in my pyjamas, eating toast, and watching the tennis.

Well, you know what they say. It's the thought that counts.

Last Thursday was the leaver's service. I did not cry, surprisingly. I was quite annoyed at this lack of emotion, actually, as I have thrown on the nonwaterproof mascara and a mass of eyeliner with gay abandon, in hopes that I would leave the school in the style of a leaky panda. But this was not to be. No, not even in the midst of Shine Jesus Shine did a drop of salty tear juice drip from my sparkling eyes. Not even during our fantastic apology did my eyes fill with liquid emotion. Nor during Mrs. Creagh's inspirational speech involving Economics jokes, and stories about fishermen did I let the sadness get ahold of me. And so I remained dry, tearless, and oddly confused.

The BBQ after, at Fran's house, could have evoked the tears, due to the very short gazebo that we erected (oo er), and also the lack of Jumbinton bats, as I had accidentally smashed one the week before, with my superhuman powers of joy. I also took a bite of raw meat, which, more than filled me with sadness, made me feel a little ill, but still, no tears.

The Ball, however, was even more of a fiasco. On the morning of the Ball itself, I received a text from "date" claiming that he could not, indeed, be bothered to attend. Right, I thought. I need to find a boy. So I went on the internets, and there a certain William Hall was, like a knight in shining armour. Well, a wrinkled tux, and skewed bow tie. And yes. There was a beard. This was much better than a wetsuit, I thought. I thought he would drop us off at Fran's, and then disappear, but imagine our joy when he remained till 11 am, having kept us up the whole night, with the lovely game of "objects". Yummy.

On Saturday, I drove, sans any sort of sleep whatsoever, the two hours to Westonbirt, or wherever it was. It was a very interesting ride, involving several accidental changes of lane when I dropped off to sleep at the wheel. But no matter, for we survived the ordeal, only the spend the night in a tent during a hurricane. I did actually comment on the tent's lack of guy ropes, but it was 17 quid from Tesco's, so we weren't complaining. We found the guy ropes in the bag yesterday. Shh. Whilst we were in Westonbirt, we went to see a little band called The Feeling, as they were doing a series of gigs in forests. I fell asleep standing up, but I am happy to note that this was only during the support act, and I did, in fact, stay awake during The Feeling's set. And they were very good, and very gay. And that is just what I like.

The journey home was less hairy.

And still I have not cried.

Doctor Who was on on Sunday. I like how Jack was the Face of Boe, but not so keen on the mini ancient Doctor. Not a good look, Mr. Tennant. I advise that you do not age.

And so, since then, I have been sitting watching the tennis. Except for last night's exciting trip to Tesco's at midnight, where we decided on many nice things to buy. We like Tesco's.

I have nothing else to say really.

Other than: SPAIN SOON, AND I AM SUPER EXTRA EXCITED, AND MAY INDEED CRY WITH JOY. Hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrray.