All's Well That Ends Well

And indeed it did. Yesterday was GCSE results day, arguably the most important day of the year when thinking long-term. Although results were available from 10am, I decided not to be one of the desperate pandas who couldn't take the emotional strain of waiting any longer, and so strolled in nonchalantly at 10.50-ish, accompanied by Andy and Fatikins.

Greeting us at the school (not intentionally, I know, but still) were Bigs, Berns and some others: they feebly tried to ratchet up the tension , but knowing how stressed they themselves must have been only a few minutes earlier made their techniques (a stirring rendition of 'Final Countdown' by Bigs, and some gabbling by Bernie) thankfully ineffective.

I found that by this point I wasn't nervous at all. The previous few days had been passed in a state of a consistent, low-level anxiety, and I expected to have more butterflies than...well, Butterfly World, by the time I reached St Bedes. However, it transpired to be the opposite, where I was just grateful to end the ceaseless waiting. Perhaps it was the fact that cycling in with Andy - Watkins jogging along in tow - is just something you can't do without mucking around and joking; maybe it was the return to the school routine (cycling in, locking up the bikes, punching Michael etc) that calmed me. Whatever the answer, I entered the bustling hall with a sense of anticipation and relaxed eagerness rather than fear. Which was neat.

And so the results were handed to be, along with a grim-looking Mrs Howard declaring that she "needed to have a serious word" with me afterwards. Luckily, this was just a amusing attempt to complete cripple my emotional structure, which would have left me a shivering wreck on the floor had it turned out to be true. Oh, such japes!

It turned out that it wasn't. On the anticlimactic wad of paper (like Bigs, I was disappointed by the absence of envelope) were printed a pleasant set of results: 5 A*s, 4 As, a B and a C in ICT. Mrs Howard happily informed me that I had been top of the year in History, and I happily thanked her, secretly relieved that her ominous warning beforehand had only been a cruel joke.

Watkins and Andy got similarly decent results, as did Gibbon, who had arrived before us, and so together we returnethed back to my house for table tennis, phonecalls to family, and general chattering. Then we advanced to Pizza Hut and ate pizza.

At 1.10, we met Cohen and Nisikins at Cineworld, and traipsed through to watch The Dark Knight. Upon entering the actual screen, we remembered that we hadn't waited for Bernie - luckily, she had gone off somewhere else instead.

The film was, predictably, excellent, and I departed home in high spirits, which were promptly dampened when Emma popped round and trounced my grades with her own, substantially better ones. Not even this, however, could spoil what had been a thoroughly good day. Now all's left to say is: bring on Hills Road!

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Wow, this is a long post. I'm becoming like Bigs!