Five-Year Diary. Wednesday, 25th March 1976
It was bitterly cold today, the sort that wraps around your feet in bed. I slept in my dressing gown. With my socks on. And a woolly hat.
I had little doubt today would be as boring as most days; it’s barely worth writing a diary. What’s there to say?!
In English/History we continued with the Tolpuddle Martyrs. The class is more like supervised reading. We have to go at the pace of the slowest reader.
French was just as uninspiring. We progressed through chapter eleven of Le Petit Nicolas. Everyone mostly stumbled along. The teacher corrected us. Usually he’s easy to distract. Not today.
Divinity was about prep, or rather how we’re all apparently doing it wrong. No one said much.
After that we were in the Music School, then mucking on in Powell Hall. Moving chairs into all the wrong places was as about as far as it went.
Lunch back at House.
In the Project Centre I carried on with the salt pot. It looks shit and doesn’t work but at least I didn’t take my eye out on the lathe.
Then we went off to play Y.S. It was freezing on the pitch, properly miserable. Paddy was in goal and did his best, though I don’t think anyone was especially brilliant today.
Back to school things after that. Maths was on nodes, which I didn’t properly follow.
Biology: we were given new files and Mounsey had us looking at animalcules, which are at least more interesting under a microscope than they sound.
English: I read Poleen in Armageddon.
Supper followed, then prep, where I had to write out common German words over and over until they stuck, which they probably haven’t.
There was some excitement in the evening as a boy got done for shoplifting, which everyone talked about in that half-whisper way, as if it might somehow spread. I assume he was expelled.
I did a bit of history, washed my hair, and then talked for a while with Green before lights out.
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