"Mr Fogg had carefully put his watch on the table, and was observing its advancing hands"
Chapter 33
It's really sad; recently we've been writing our yearbook pages. I don't know whether there's anything more sad, and yet oddly calculated to bring a smile to one's face. Like a certain very underquoted author said, parting is such sweet sorrow. Still, hard to believe it's already my last year of school.
Anyway, here it is, ladies and gentlemen, for your delectation and delight:
Name: Francesca Fogg
Course: History
Plans for
the future: Go to uni, see the world, eventually subject its peoples to my
dictatorial will…
Oh. Right.
So apparently that was seven years.
Didn’t really feel like it. Unless it was seven dog years. Hmm. My dog is looking at me crossly as I write
this, no doubt telling me to consider myself lucky that I haven’t aged 49 years
in that time. I could attempt to argue
with him that all time is relative to the observer, but when you start quoting
dodgy Einstein at your dog, when you don’t even do science, you know that
either a) A- levels have started to drive you a little up the wall or b) you
possibly need to get out a little more.
Me as an ickle Year 7
Well,
working on the premise that I have, in fact, spent seven happy years at this school, I
suppose I should reminisce. What really
strikes me is how close our small year has grown as we’ve gone through the
school. No, seriously, I’m not holding an onion under my eyes or anything.
While perhaps not being- ahem- the
most socially adept of people, I feel like now there are very few people in
Year 13 who I couldn’t go up to and talk quite happily with. That’s what I’ll miss most about Wimbledon, I
think- the relationship with every single person in the year. That, and those pizzas in the sixth form café.
I swear they put something addictive in those things.
And looking rather fine on D of E
Other
highlights include the unspeakable coolness that was Year 7 discos, “tidying
up” the Drama Cupboard in Year 8, setting up Tippex with Hannah (the next
issue’s coming soon, Hannah, promise) forcing my Junior Drama script on the
poor Year 7s in Year 12 (who did a sterling job, incidentally, and were robbed
of their prize), and teaching my entire History class to
expect the Spanish Inquisition everywhere.
Oh, and I did actually learn some stuff… somewhere along the line.
