I usually wake from my snooze at around 4:30am, after an evening of late-night texting and Facebook drama. No one else is awake at this time, so I just hang around in my bedroom for a couple of hours. I might check my emails, or read the latest update of a blog I’m following. I know I should probably try to get more sleep, but I gave up on that a while ago.
Every now and again, I check my mobile for the time. Sometimes I check the wireless landline on my desk. Occasionally, I can be bothered to crane my neck to see the analogue clock hanging up above my mirror. When the digits strike 6am I drag myself away from the computer screen, and pull on my school uniform. I slink down stairs and greet my mother, who has normally just finished breakfast. Breakfast usually consists of whatever’s in the cereal cupboard (normally some form of muesli or a box of get-slim-quick flakes) or if I can’t be bothered; I’ll just have a piece of fruit.
After breakfast I face the challenge of straightening my hair and tying it up, brushing my teeth, washing my face, putting on make up to a decent standard and packing my school bag all in the space of around 20 minutes - in time to leave the house for 7:20. It’s always a bit of a dash to the station to catch the 7:26 train which is always packed with smart men and women in suits on their way to work in London. Everyday my brother and I spend the ten minute train journey staring at the same miserable faces sitting in exactly the same seats doing exactly the same thing; be it checking their Blackberries, iPhones or reading the Daily Mail. When we arrive at our destination station, we just about manage to squeeze through the oblivious commuters who, everyday without fail, try to board the train before we’ve managed to get off. It’s quite illogical really. Sometimes our hefty school bags might get caught on the passengers inside the train, who scowl and glare as if they’ve never been an awkward teenager.
And so the tedious wait for our next train commences. More commuters line the opposite side of the platform, looking as gormless as ever. I sit on one of the cold metal benches -most of which have been shat on by pigeons- and wait for my friends to arrive. Little by little, the platform fills with students from both Newstead and Olaves who, for the most part, tend to ignore each other’s existence apart from the normal group of year nines who seem to enjoy the company of the opposite sex rather a lot. About two minutes before the train is due to arrive, Chiha emerges casually from the station entrance and strolls towards our platform. We text each other almost everyday, and have almost endless conversations about nothing, yet in person we can barely manage a simple ‘Hello’ or ‘Hi’. It’s the most frustrating thing.
The train arrives and the students cram into their carriages, clutching their Metros and jabbering about the day ahead. I tend to spend the twenty minute journey not talking much. I’d rather stare out the window, and have some private thinking time, or I just observe the general banter of my friends. On arrival at Orpington, all the Newstead students descend into the substation walkway and appear on the other side of the station to flash their tickets at the station attendant, who really, doesn’t pay much attention to them at all. I once got past the attendant with a month old ticket. The two quid I would have spent on a travel card that day went towards my ‘get rich without realising’ fund.
The walk to school with Marion is normally filled with a heated debate on whether or not Dr Who is absolute nonsense or our shared interest in ambiguous homoerotic subtext. I always feel slightly worn out by the time we get to school; but there’s no time to be tired, so I get my books ready for my first two lessons and set off through the cramped corridors which are packed with year sevens who are clearly inexperienced at the art of pushing and shoving. Trying to walk down the corridors at rush hour is vaguely similar to being in a mosh pit. With textbooks.
At break time, Michelle (my best friend) and I usually buy a bacon roll from the canteen, or plan our next prank. A few months ago, we crammed ourselves into the bag cupboard, and jumped out on our friend. I got neck cramp whilst trying to stuff my large year ten torso into the bottom shelf at the same time as helping Michelle squish in – but our victim’s reaction was priceless. Michelle and I are infamous for our mischievous personalities within the form, but others reckon we’re a tad freaky.
The last bell rings and we’re free to get home to the wonders of having access to a fast modem and reading up on the advanced functions of various gadgets we’ve got lying around to see if we can make them more exciting. I practise piano for a while, until I get bored of playing and perfecting the same pieces over and over, and wait for dinner to be ready. On occasion I make dinner as a way of being helpful, and I’ve developed quite an interest in cooking.
The rest of the evening is spent procrastinating starting that assignment which happens to be due in tomorrow. I might re-arrange my bedroom a few times, or reorganise my videogames into alphabetical order.
Bedtime is usually around eleven, and that assignment won’t have been touched. I decide I’ll quickly rush it on the train in the morning, and so I get into bed, and log out for the day.
Oh wait. I have a text.
No comments:
Post a Comment