An Attention-Grabbing and Scintillating Title

So, this Leaving Cert lark, eh? Rather spiffy, on the whole. I’m going to think of it as a kettle. I’ll pour every  last drop of brainjuice into it, put it on and hope that it boils. If it does boil, I’ll go on to, eh . . . make tea. Third-level education tea. Best kind there is, yeah?

Strained metaphors aside, I’m Naoise, I want to do English and my ‘it’s August, I don’t need to think about the Leaving’ excuse has officially worn thin. I missed a sizeable chunk of 5th year and was quite sick for the rest of it. The consequences: I’ll need to work my arse off this year to catch up, I’m doing Ordinary Maths, and the whole ‘attending school regularly’ thing still feels like almost as much of a novelty as this marginally more important ‘Leaving Cert’ phenomenon.

I’ve been in school since Monday but we haven’t had any formal inductions or spine-tinglingly intimidating talks yet, unless, as I suspect, they were held for a select few in some sort of secret 6th year dungeon. Kinky. Unlikely, though, when one considers my school’s charming 80’s architecture.

Anyway, I’m torn between two plans for the year. The first is to study consistently, do exam papers, pick up the pace as exams approach – all that jazz that the pedagogical folk tend to recommend. The second is to hunt down anyone who’s applying for any sort of English course and physically assault them to such an extent that even were they capable of recovering from the emotional trauma induced by witnessing such barbarism, their impaired motor functions would prevent them from lifting a pen.

I’m a bespectacled midget from South Dublin. Furthermore, I punch like a bespectacled midget from South Dublin. I think I’ll need to go for some variation on option one.

That’ll be quite enough waffle for now. Nice to meet you, internet! I hope you don’t hate me. That’s one disadvantage of blogging. It’s a stressful year already without the additional burden of suspecting that the internet hates you. The portion of it that gets bored and googles ‘Leaving Cert’, anyway. It stands to reason that of that bored pie-piece, a pie-piece within the pie-piece will be reading this and thinking, ‘Wench needs to stop typing.’

Actually, wench needs to start her homework. Or perhaps wench is embroiled in a love affair with the word ‘wench’ and is using any excuse to work it in. Wench. I think we need a ‘wench’ tag on all my posts, just so Google knows where the wenches are at. It’d bring in some interesting traffic. But I digress. Wenching is an entirely irrelevant concern that I’m entertaining with a view to avoiding getting some work done. This is the 1st of September. My work ethic can only go downhill from this point. This amuses me almost as much as it terrifies me.

Now I’m really going. Lovely to meet you all, I look forward to reading everyone’s posts and spewing out a few of my own, and ¡buena suerte! (To me as well as you. Believe me, I need it.)