This is not intended for any specific purpose or reason, and therefore is quite suitable to discuss life in general. Perhaps it will be a helpful insight for all young people in the similar predicament at school of routinely having their shampoo 'borrowed', or perhaps some people may find some relief in that they feel the same level of frustration or humor at certain aspects of British life. Or perhaps this will just be a good example of all things English, existentialist and adolescent. Who knows? (I would say God but I don't want to place my bets too early...)
Just last month I finished all the lovely forms needed for university applications, which detailed somewhere in my 'personal statement' (which I think is where you are supposed to sum up your entire life in 47 lines... great.), and then noted all the reasons as to why I wanted to study my course, which just so happens to be Archaeology and Anthropology hopefully so that I can become the next Indiana Jones or Lara Croft (... well I can dream can't I?). Just the other day I was discussing biblical archaeology with one of my teachers who asked the rather predictable question of 'to what extent do I think that the Bible is an accurate historical source'. So I sat down and opened up a Bible and started reading, and told him that it was all pretty accurate until I had reached the part which said 'And God said let there be light'.
At which point I left to go and eat an avocado.
No, but really, in all honesty I find it fascinating. Archaeology is one of those subjects which seems to have an endless abundance of adventure, romance and interest. It is one of the few areas of life remaining where people care not where they are going, but merely want to know where everyone else has been. How refreshing.
But this does come with a price... well in my life at least. I am constantly late. For everything. I don't know how it happens but I seem to have a really absurd sense of time. I look at the clock just before leaving my boarding house, but no matter how early I think I leave, I always manage to arrive late:
"Its a detention for you! How dare you turn up to my lesson 2 minutes late!"
"3 minutes actually, Sir."
This is not helped by the fact that I find it impossible to get up in the mornings. I stay up late either working, or going out (when the all-powerful, all-seeing, almighty Housemaster allows us to) or thinking, because for some reason things seem to get more interesting as the night goes on. And then of course, it gets to 7am and some weedy 3rd former does her job by charging down the corridors ringing a damn bell which probably was borrowed from bloody Notre Dame (I swear, I can now hear that bell in the mornings even when I am at home). And I lie in bed thinking 'just another 5 minutes', which then turns to 10, and then 15. Luckily as I am now in Upper 6th (and so therefore am supposed to be part of the role-model corpus of the school... fat chance) I do not have to go to breakfast, so avoid the old 'you must have your breakfast or you will not survive the day' pep talk from le grande Housemaster, but then regret this by being starving for the rest of the morning until lunchtime.
So, to sum up, as all good A-Level students must do in their work (Goodness me...), I don't dare to assume that my life is particularly important, or special or in any way better than your own. It is filled with annoying little incidents that tend to cloud up its beauty. But nevertheless, for whatever reason, seeing the irony in it really is a blessing in disguise; it always guarantees to put a smile on my face.
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