You know how I am going to mark the fact that I have not updated my blog for an awfully long time?
By ignoring that fact and only updating you folks on the latest news from the countryside.
So, how is this for OHMYFREAKINGGOD news?
I actually passed the driver’s test!
Like, properly! With only 3 minors, when I was terrified I would end up having to cry and beg to the driving instructor to get my grown up licence.
On the day, I woke up feeling a bit sick, not wanting to even look myself in the mirror in case it was bad luck of some kind. However, my nerves faded when I heard that my brother had passed his degree. Suddenly, my psychology changed. After all, if my brother could do so well, anything I did wouldn’t so bad on that day.
I think it was the good news that relaxed me enough to not give a fig about the busy friday traffic, or the inane chatter of the examiner. Judging by my response to some of his questions, I’m surprised I did not get a minor for ‘sass’ when I asked what girly hobbies he did (from what I gather, being a knitter makes you a ‘Ponce’ to Yorkshiremen).
Thankfully, I got to drive a spare car the next day, after my dad stunned the insurance company. Driving a car for the first time by yourself is rather strange.
*pootling down the A road, listening to Meatloaf thanks to jelbytoad*
Me: (suddenly realising just what I am doing) “OHMYGOD! I’m driving a car by myself!”
My subconsious: (in a voice that I am imagine the Samaritans phoneline uses) “Yes you are. You passed yesterday, remember?”
Me: “Oh yes, I can do this by myself now. I’m a real grown up.”
*pootles along for another five minutes*
Me: “Oh my god! I’m driving a car by myself!”
This happened at least 5 times on the way to work, and 3 times on the way back. Thankfully, I discovered that expensive Cava is a real pick-me-up/headache inducer once I got home.
Now it’s been a few weeks, I have been on the motorway, to the seaside, to my first pay and display car park, to the pub, to the shops, to have my ears pierced, to the cinema, in the dark, with lights, without lights and have taken corners at speed. I have even been inducted into the mysterious world of waving at fellow drivers when they let me pull out at junctions/roundabouts. My life has changed immensely, as I no longer have to rely on the world’s most expensive local taxi service/my folks to get everywhere. Even with petrol, I’m saving myself a good £30-£40 a month (taxis were costing me £80 a week at one point, for a 10 minute journey). The novelty of driving to the library or picking up a sibling has yet to rub off and become routine. The only thing that is slightly annoying is the way that randomly, bits of plastic seem to come off the car.
Life, is good.
Now, all that is happening is my wrapping up of my life in the sticks, and I’m starting to think about just how many boxes I will need to move my stuff back in to University accommodation (as a general rule: plastic bags are roomier, you don’t need too many tupperware boxes, and any stuff you need will inevitably be thrown out in a skip somewhere, so you can go looking for spare furniture that way…).
It feels sad to leave the school for the last time, but to sum up the children that I helped for the year, I will submit this piece of evidence to the jury.
Child: “Miss, you are a ‘Miss’, aren’t you?”
Child: ” So, you’re not a Mrs then?”
Me: “No, I’m not.”
Child: “So, you’re not married then?”
Me: (wondering where this questioning is going) “No…”
Child: “So, no-one loves you then, Miss?”
Me: *at least 2 seconds of stunned silence* “Well, that’s not true… my Mum and Dad love me…”
Child: *gives look of ‘yeah, right’ and carries on writing*
I will miss my Owls. It was a bit more of a mixed bunch this year, with some loud, some quiet and at least one who had an encyclopedic knowledge when it came to any jokes from Harry Hill’s Tv Burp, but I enjoyed their company. Plus, I even had one child who said he would miss me as I left, passing by the dinner queue. I could feel my lower lip wobble as I walked out for the last time.
I must have done something right.
The thought of being responsible for a class by myself scares me a bit at the moment, but in a ‘slight shiver on a warm day’ than ‘running screaming from the room’.
There’s so much to think about, but there is one big difference from when I was preparing for being an Undergraduate (by trying to damage my liver as much as possible before I arrived, checking the history department website everyday and watch a lot of films so I had stuff to talk about): I’m not nervous. If anything, I’m excited at the prospect at moving back into halls and meeting new people and having a social life (when not burying my head in a book or smelling of wax crayons) and actually having a proper career and knowing what I’m doing. It’s the whole ‘waiting for things to happen’ thing that I’m not so good at. That, and not going overboard with highlighting.
If you need me, I’ll be reading the kid’s literature at the library.