Hello. What the hell are you looking at? Joking... Welcome to the life of myself. I’ve told Mom so many times, I HATE cheese, pickle and mayonnaise sandwiches! They gross me out. Have you seen the way the insides ooze out of the otherwise tasty looking fluffy, cloud-like slices? That just makes me sick. Like watching Clarkson bare his rotting teeth at me at eight every Sunday evening. Difference is, Clarkson is funny and having to eat oozy pickle sandwiches is the unfunniest thing in the world.
Anyway, so I was sitting at lunch eating with best friend Violet on my left and other-best-friend Rose on my right. Violet’s mum packed her gorgeous BLT sandwiches, and I would have given almost anything, up to and including my sanity, to be able to sink my teeth into those sumptuous sandwiches. Rose had Somerfield Simply Value ready-to-eat pasta. It doesn’t look great, but it doesn’t look as bad as my doomful sandwiches. Doomful isn’t a word, but there is no word in the English Dictionary which applies, so I had to create one for my Sandwiches of Doom & Misery.
Rose swears by her so called “lucky” pasta. It gives her good luck for the next 3 hours, convenient then, as we have a French exam in twenty minutes, followed by Chemistry. Chemistry won’t be too much of a damn pain, but French will suck some serious lemons. In fact, the only thing I ever learned to say was “Je déteste le Français”. My French teacher told me I was “nain effronté!” :I don’t know what that means, What the Buck (Rate It Even If You Hate It!).
See, I watch too much YouTube. I joined The Station in its first few days, it’s been flying up the subscriptions chart - #88 yesterday, #36 today, and tomorrow... Who knows? I think Shane is amazing in it, never mind his own videos – “NO MORE “F” BOMBS!!!???” Is Epic... (Sorry about that, I couldn’t resist using that word!). Any white guy who’s alter ego is a ghetto girl who thinks she’s black has got to be cool! No two ways about it. And I think Destery and Nate should be part of The Station, they deserve it... “Twelve out of four people are rapists! F*ck!”
Anyway. I’m very nervous about the exam, especially French. I have the French knowledge of a very small turtle. Violet and Rose have tonnes more sense than me; they both dropped it before GCSE year. FML, I took French... and Spanish. Oh, the joy. For that once again, I should walk into French and declare “Hola, Señora, lo siento que estoy tarde...”, which not only gets me detention for being late, but also for so called “cheek”... a thrilling double detention. Detentions are the bane of my life. No, okay, I stand corrected: Detentions are one of the banes of my life. Not only do they intrude upon the already counted hours of my valuable freedom, but it’s like time is stretched over an easel when I’m in them, making them one, long, wretched, drawn-out slog, spent flicking blu-tack aimlessly around the room and kicking the back of the usual victimised first-years’ chair in front. Joy!
After the exams, I’m going home, thank God. As a reward for my “hard work”, Dad has fixed up the old Lotus Elise and is going to take me on a hopefully brake-melting spin, being under seventeen, I can’t burn any rubber of my own yet (although my bad-ass friend Alex and Rose seems to think there are other ways of “burning rubber” – friction creates heat and... you catch my drift. I have never met anyone in the world to whom Pirate Metal should bear such significance – Yo’ Baad!, as I tell her on a very regular basis [Thank Shananay for that!]).
I’m saving for my first set of ready-to-burn wheels – I want a Fiat 500c. That’s the convertible, and I want the 1.7l engine. Anyone who has taste in cars wants the Fiat or a Cooper – which may be why my dear friend Emilie, who wouldn’t know a Gallardo from a Transit, and Alex, who sees an R8 in Chester (predictably – Cheshire: Footballer’s Country) and says; “Oh, a what, Audi? So, it’s just an Audi!” -, both have hearts dedicated to the pensioners’ Nissan Micra. My Gran has one of those, and she’s 69 years old (no, she really is, I didn’t make that number up for the irony!). Micras are for pensioners, Rule #3 of Motoring. Cadillacs are for the Micra audience plus pimps, Rule#2 of motoring. A8’s are for people who might meet an “entrepreneur” on a street corner with a clipboard reading “Investments welcome for shares in the newest adult vibrators” and think back massaging equipment is probably a gap in the market. Rule #1. In my opinion.
Mind you, obviously, there are pages and pages of other rules which would probably qualify as #1 as well. I’ve always thought Nissan Micras are the worst thing since Sean Kingston and his stupid Beautiful Girls.
Enough of my self-confessed car snobbery, you may begin to grow tired of my everlasting aspirations to rid the world of cr*p cars. Instead of draping myself over one of the shabby leather sofas in the library writing this, I ought to be revising for Chemistry. It doesn’t appeal, but it has to be done, I’m not leaping in elation at this delightful thought. I’d better go. I’ll get back to you after my Elise spin and tell you about how it all went and what’s happening in the life of myself. Wish me luck...