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Whenever I’m on holiday, I always have fabulous intentions to blog regularly about the magnificent things I do, to prove to myself that I actually have a life. But, the truth is, by the time the holidays come around, I’m just too shattered to think beyond the next glass of white wine. So here I am, writing an entry the day before I go back to school, having somehow lost the last week in an alcoholic haze.

The ban on Mischief Day worked a treat, with Year 11s and Year 13s teaming up to form an unholy alliance that trashed the school beyond recognition and resulted in both proms being cancelled. The sixth form common room was left looking like the set of a post-apocalyptic film, someone managed to trap some highly incontinent pigeons and release them into the hall during the Year 13 leavers’ assembly, and a series of male, female and transgender genitalia was painted onto the headteacher’s car in nail varnish. Prior to the ban, the silly pranks barely extended beyond the odd fire alarm and shaving foam mess, which goes to show that telling teenagers not to do something is the best way of getting them to do it.

I was sad to say goodbye to my form as they went on study leave, as I have known them since they were simpering, needy little twerps of 11 years old. Some of them will be back for Year 12, but most won’t (having seen the light and realised that there are better schools out there). I wished them well but declined their requests for me to follow them on Facebook and Instagram.

Ugh – time to go and sort out my bag for tomorrow. I wish Ginger were here to do it for me.

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