…used to be Wednesdays were as simple as double French in the mornings, triple English in the afternoons and just a bit of maths in the middle to be endured.
I’m sure it seemed much more complicated at the time. And I remember curling tongs having a significance beyond just ‘did I remember to turn them off’. But from here even the eternal embarrassment of being the fifteen year old ThirdCat doesn’t seem so bad.
Still, it’s nearly Easter. Eggs to be eaten, fish to be caught, beaches to be walked. It looks like the sun will be out, and at night, the glorious moon.
I remember it being agony, largely because I went to a ‘science’ school, thinking ‘I’ll have to sit through double chemistry, then maths and agriculture before I get on to English!’
Fifteen, hmm, let me think …
Maths 1 and 11, Science 1 and 11, Geography, English, French and German — and public exams (‘Intermediate’) in all eight subjects.
I had three lots of competitive public exams, graded 1-6 (5 and 6 were fails) or A-G (E and beyond were fails), in the last three years of school — or, if you count the secondary and tertiary scholarship exams, five. I do find it really, really, really hard to sympathise with today’s yoof when they complain about the pressures of Year 12. Suck it up, chillen.
Fifteen, hmm, let me think …
Maths 1 and 11, Science 1 and 11, Geography, English, French and German — and public exams (‘Intermediate’) in all eight subjects.
I had three lots of competitive public exams, graded 1-6 (5 and 6 were fails) or A-G (E and beyond were fails), in the last three years of school — or, if you count the secondary and tertiary scholarship exams, five. I do find it really, really, really hard to sympathise with today’s yoof when they complain about the pressures of Year 12. Suck it up, chillen.
Ah yes, the eternal torture of whether I was or was not prettier than Kathryn Spence and therefore whether David Teal would choose me or her. I also remember something about my parents not understanding me. I distinctly recall them not understanding the imperative nature of WestCo jeans vs Kmart brand. Migrants are soooo embarrassing.
(David chose Kathryn but I later heard she went off and became a topless dancer)
just want to clarify that everyone knows I MAKE UP the names. Don’t want anyone accusing the Kathryn Spences of their acquaintance of misspent youths dancing on pub tables. Or accosting any David Teals for being a bounder.
At fifteen I was still the kid in the home knitted school jumper.
(Isn’t the moon truly glorious these last couple of nights? Huge and glowing. I tried to take a photo of it last night. Failed miserably).
Ah, walks on beaches …
Fifteen was excruciating for me, I’m afraid. Ditched by my best friends and released into social limbo, the boys I liked NEVER liked me (which was always the end of the world), and I was itching to turn eighteen and leave home and be allowed to do anything I liked.
Every time I think of high school, I remember that I love my thirties!
I’m with Ariel! Fifteen was a cruel and unusual punishment. (Apart from the music. The music rocked good.) I was too young to drive, too young to drink, too unattractive and nerdy for a boyfriend – crikey I like my 30s 🙂
Hello everyone – apologies for my delayed response. I took a lovely extended Easter break. And I can’t type too much, because the ‘e’ on my keyboard is sticky which means every few words I have to go back and fix the word. But I have to say I didn’t even know there were such things as ‘science’ schools. Not somewhere I would’ve ended up I’m sure.
And yes, being in my thirties has been better than being fifteen. Until now anyway when I seem to be beset by all the same ‘I have no place in the world’ worries. But I already told you about them. Didn’t I?