Ah, Britain. No, Great Britain: a country so smugly pleased with itself that we actually put an adjective in the name; just on the off chance any other regions were for a moment uncertain of our superior status. During an exchange programme, a few years ago, I realised just how terrible we English are.
There’s around thirty days left of summer vacation and freshers happens just to end it, so at the moment the problem for our year at school is to find out the best way to spend it…
Recently in my life, I went on a holiday with my friends, or squad, which we imaginatively called our squaliday. Considering that 90% of this blog’s audience are the people who went on the squaliday, it would make sense to write about our hilarious misadventures of the past week for the purposes of nostalgia and relatability.
Instead, I’m going to delve into a more pressing investigation. My hypothesis: Leonardo DiCaprio could’ve ‘drowneded’ in all of his films.
My mind is telling me no… but my body, my body is telling me yes: musings on a moral inclination towards veganism, but a severe lacking in dedication. Basically, I suck.
Mainly because it means I don’t have to write anything new, and partly because I think it will entertain you, here is (probably) the best thing I’ve ever written – I showed it to my teacher and got a star sticker put on it, if you need proof of the standard.
I used to be very scared of slugs so wrote this pretty speciesist poem when I was 9 or 10 just for fun calling for an international slug cull. Because what child doesn’t have genocide on their mind?
Anyway, here’s my poem about slugs which I rather imaginatively titled: Slugs.
A Level Results day.
It’s also my dad’s birthday (little shout out – you should buy him a present) but I’m scared that I will be singing Happy Birthday in between sporadic sobs while clutching my tear-stained results in one hand. Admittedly, that’s probably the worst case scenario.
I don’t understand how to cope though. Roughly two months in between your last exam and the day when you get to find out if you’ve screwed up your life. I can’t handle that kind of pressure.
I’m trying to write a blog but I’m supposed to be revising for A Levels, so if I structure this review as an 18 mark A01 R.E essay, that counts as revision, right? Yeah, I think so too.
By this, I don’t mean that I’m hoping to be go into something stupid, a profession that guarantees disrespect and ridicule. I don’t know, something silly like being a semi-professional uni-cyclist or a politician or something.
I mean that I want to be a writer which means that I am destined to be poor.
We all have different personas based on who we’re with. The occasional time when you’re out with one friend and then see another and your behaviour visibly changes; then suddenly the existential questions come flooding in:
Why am I acting differently now? In what way did I just change? What am I really like? Who is the real me? WHO AM I????
It’s hard to focus on small talk when internally you’re having an identity crisis.
I thought I’d kick this off by giving you an idea of the kind of tone we’re working with. In Year 9, we were told to write a poem about something we were passionate about.
I could have written a poem about something really deep and meaningful but, instead, I wrote it about jam.
I won second prize in that poetry contest and collected £15, because, no, that kind of stuff doesn’t just happen when you land on Community Chest in Monopoly.
Here is said award winning poem: