Yearbook and some teary-eyed reminiscing...

"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.