I've been meaning to blog all summer, and when I went onto blogger today so what y'all we're up to, suddenly all these 'end of summer' blogs had appeared. So I shall do a quick review of the summer, which will probably be fairly sparse as the pictures are either on celluloid inside disposable cameras, and the stories are inside my head and probably won't make it onto the internet.
The summer started in such a wonderfully teenage way. The last week of school fizzled out into nothing and pretty much everyone in sixth form handed in their work and went home early. I technically did finish early as well, but I still came in on the last day for a couple of hours to hand in a book, before heading off to my friend's farm for the end of year camp out. Only the tent space to attendees ratio was 4:15. While others decided to stay up all night, exploring the ruined abbey and sitting around the bonfire, I ended up sleeping under the stars (we were miles from any civilization so the sky was wonderfully clear) watching meteorites dart in and out of the atmosphere with two of the most important friends I shall probably ever have.
My local theatre put on a series of performances by local writers, where I acted in one of the plays. It was a chill script-in-hand performance, with the quality of every aspect ranging in a beautifully am-dram way. It was also a melancholy experience as I knew that was probably the last bit of drama I would do before University (next year I need to reduce the amount of extra-curricular due to making what will almost certainly turn out to be one of the most stupid decisions of my life by choosing to do 4 A2s + EPQ* + Head Girl + Feminist Forum + Maybe attempting to continue a social life), and therefore probably the last time I would act in that specific theatre. I also met Orlando Bloom, which was so underwhelming that my Mum has to remind me about it every time I have to recount my summer to some family member.
Fleur and I helped out on an archaeological dig in a nearby village. For a long time I wanted to study Archaeology and Anthropology at University, so it was good to be able to satisfy that part of myself. I spent a lot time cleaning the finds, which was far more enjoyable than it sounds as the other people helping out were mainly elderly ladies from the village so we had a good old natter.
Cecily and Fleur came over to make flower crowns and cake to celebrate our blog's first birthday, which we manged to totally neglect when it actually happened back in May. Pictures below. Cecily and I also bought a red scrunchie in reference to the film Heathers.
That all happened in the state of tense but blissful pre-results ignorance. I'm very happy with what I got, and I feel it reflects the work (or potentially lack of for a couple of the exams) I put in. It's very odd to find myself in the position where I have a month and a week to apply for University**, and to be able to apply for all the Universities that could have been out of reach academically. Overall, however, I can definitely feel the drop in results - many of the most talented and intelligent people I know seemed to have missed out the grades they deserved.
The post-results party was odd. For the most part of it it was more underwhelming than meeting Orlando Bloom. But then there were two events in particular that will probably hold some significance when recounting the exploits of my adolescence in twenty years time.
The beginning of my final year of school seems to be coming towards me at incredible speed. I spent yesterday evening watching the Arctic Monkey's headline set at Reading and researching leaver's hoodies. I'm looking forward to year 13. I feel more comfortable with myself then I think I ever have done, and I feel I have finally blossomed into an actual adolescent. Given the choice, I don't think I would decide to live anybodies life.
Gwendolen
*Most British teenagers will only be studying three subjects in their last year of school. Extended Project Qualification - 6000 word research-based essay on a subject of your choice. After spending the summer working on an essay about objectivity, I decided to change it and look at female sexuality in Sylvia Plath and Carol Ann Duffy two days ago. This is not the recommended procedure.
**Finally settled on English. Part of me feels guilty for choosing it over Physics, but I finally gave in to the lure of literature when I realised that the one day I didn't look forward to on my timetable was the one without English.
Let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room.
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