September the 10th.
The day school reopens for another year. Yet, this isn't going to be just any year, no, September 6th of 2012 is going to mark the beginning of my final year of school. It's actually a pretty scary thought.
Considering I've spent the last six years of my secondary education bemoaning my parents, teachers, homework, you name it, wishing for the day when I can finally pack my bags and leave for the big wide world, I'm suddenly feeling quite nostalgic. For in less than three hundred and sixty five days, school will be all but memories.
No more will I hear the shrill cry of the hairy she-male games teacher, no more will I be forced to mime the words of "And did those feet in ancient time", and no more will I have to suffer watching the clock slowly tick to four o'clock.
Oh farewell green playing fields that we were never allowed to play on, adieu my dear tasteless canteen slop, a bientôt horrid pleated knee length skirt. But, I'm getting ahead of myself; I still have one whole year to enjoy before my long awaited departure. This year will mark the moment when I'm finally at the top of the school's food chain; I will officially be the whale, and those lower students will all be my little plankton.
Remember when you were in year seven? And you used to wonder at those sixth formers who didn't seem to care about talking to the opposite sex, or who used to skip the lunch queue, or, gasp, didn't even seem to be afraid of the teachers! They wore makeup, went to the wildest parties, and owned their own cars. Gosh, they were so cool and carefree. Oh, the jealousy, the reverence, the hero-worship.
Well youngsters, I can now reveal that's only because A-levels replace friendship bracelets, makeup hides the spots, and well, pushing queues is just a casual exercise of superiority.
Although, I'm still bitter about the car; my parents refused. I chuckle now to think about how worried I became when I forgot my pencil case, or, how rebellious I seemed when chomping gum during lessons. Frankly, in all my seventeen years of living, I think nobody has or will in the future ever describe me as rebellious.
Yes, it is one of my greatest regrets, but I have come to the conclusion we can't all live lyf on da edge. I don't wish to harp on about the point, but I reckon this whole finishing school thing is a pretty significant moment in my life. I can only imagine that the sudden lack of structure in my life will inevitably lead me on a downward spiral into actual fun. Of course, my debut into proper life will be spectacular. Instant riches, fame and fortune are obviously guaranteed. Granted, there must be a few brief hardships to be endured, just so that if, and I don't want to push you here Mr Spielberg, Hollywood were ever to make a movie of my life, the plot line will be creditable.
Therefore, come September tenth, the day when many other likeminded seventeen year olds will be swaggering into school, I will be savouring the last moments of my illustrious school career. True, I will be ordering around my minions, treading upon the forbidden luscious green grass and, if feeling particularly daring, back chatting teachers. Because, the minute I leave school, it's going to be a whole new food chain, of which I'm going to be an insignificant little plankton.