1AM—OMG I start Sixth Form today.
3AM—I’m still awake. Can’t sleep at all.
5AM—Aaaaagh! I’m wide awake again and I can’t bloody get back to sleep as I am bricking it about school. You know something? I don’t think I quite thought this whole thing through. I reckon I just got all swept away with Ms. Bracket and her “master of your own destiny” speech ’cos Ms. Bracket is like Yoda or something. She is well crafty at fooling kids into thinking they are good when they think they ain’t worth nothing and that’s what she did to me. She’s a proper headbend that woman is.
Maybe my mother is right. At least Mr. Yolk’s was a job and it was bringing in money and I should have been proud of the fact I was supporting myself with no handouts from no one. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I’ll be laughing on the other side of my face when I’m back next week crying to Mr. Yolk wanting all my hours back and he’s given them to some Polish woman who works twice as hard for half as much. I won’t feel so bleeding clever then my mother says.
5:25AM—I think I am having what Dr. Oz on Oprah would call an “anxiety attack” as I’m proper panicking now and I don’t even know what to wear today and I don’t know what to take with me and I don’t even know what bloody subjects to do when I get there. Cava-Sue said yesterday I should put on something comfortable and take a pen with me and just “enjoy the experience.” Cava-Sue says I’ve got to stop being so bleeding theatrical.
Me, theatrical? HA HA HA. She was only at college in Ilford half a week and she went all emo and began prancing about in a stripey sweater and a hat with a pom pom and scarf looking like him off of Where’s Waldo?
I don’t wanna change if I go to Sixth Form. I like being me.
7:30AM—Have just called Carrie for wardrobe advice. Carrie reckons the dress code today is “smart-casual” or “smart-caj” as she is calling it. Carrie says there is a section on smart-caj in the “Dress to Impress” chapter of her Butterz to Babe book. Carrie says that Tabitha Tennant says that smart-caj means “businesslike with a chilled-out twist, possibly with a nod toward sportswear.”
EH? What does that mean? That newscaster blouse Mum got me for Aunty Glo’s silver wedding anniversary party with some track pants? My mother’s betting-shop jacket with my Von Dutch cap and carrying along a Ping-Pong paddle?
8AM—Right. This is what I’m wearing: My best jeans from TopShop. My pink T-shirt with the white swirls on it from Wet Seal. My pink Ellesse trainers, and my white McKenzie hoodie. I’m wearing my hair loose and back in a gold metal headband and my big gold hoops. That’s final. I ain’t changing again. End of.
8:15AM—Oh and my gold locket that Wesley bought me of course with the pictures of us in it from when we went to see DJ Tim Westwood. I gotta wear it ’cos Wesley’s giving me a lift to school and he gets the hump a little bit if I don’t ’cos it cost a proper bomb and it was money he could have spent on rims. Gotta go.