“I’ve read it,” I say, pushing my Dad’s contract of employment across the table.
“Anything I should know?”
“Ideally you should read the whole thing,” I say. “But in the meantime look at these two. This one,” I say, indicating the last page, “stops you from-”
“It’s just bollocks, isn’t it?” he says, slamming it down on the table. “And like, it’s just common sense.”
“Did you just damn my career in one sentence?”
“Yep.”
“Good morning,” my Dad says, poking his head around my door. “How was your night?”
“Good,” I say, stretching and taking the coffee from him. Honestly I have grown to love being at home. “After I got in I tried, but couldn’t sleep again so watched a film.”
“Oh,” he says pouting. “All on your own?”
“Yep,” I say. “It felt very grown up.”
I have indeed reverted to being a child at home.
“Although,” I say, sipping my coffee and trying to control my bed hair. “I didn’t really watch the film because there was a spider on my chest halfway through.”
“Which coin?” Dad says, for this is how we measure spiders.
“Only 5p but right on my pyjamas!”
He smiles at me somewhat disdainfully.
“So,” I say, “I spent most of the film flapping around the living room. And then went to bed but woke up twice on the other side of the room, frantically brushing down where the spider had been.”
“Yes,” he says. “Very grown up.”
“You heard this yet?” Kellie says, holding up a copy of the new Linkin Park.
“Not yet,” I say. “I was leaving it til after exams because I knew I’d analyse it obsessively.”
She smiles, for she understands.
I slam the door of her new Audi, admiring the interior.
She slips the CD into the drive.
It’s dark as we zip along the motorway. The steely exterior of the car glints in the moonlight. She turns the stereo up, for we both know a long drive is the best way of listening to new music.
I lean back.
It opens with beautiful guitars. It is not very Linkin Park. It is, if everything were stripped away, a ballad. The rap starts earlier than I expect. It makes me listen to the urgency of what he is saying.
I listen intently for a few moments, staring into my lap.
I smile at the lyrics. It’s about song writing, the importance of music, politics, war, all in one, and how similar those messages are. Messages of unity, realism, opening people’s eyes.
The swear words are perfectly placed. They punctuate the verses with their bite.
Verse one ends and the chorus, which is almost instrumental, slows it down, with almost choral singing standing melodic against the background of the structured rap.
In verse two the rhythm is syncopated; the words fill in the gaps rather than falling directly on the beat. He begins to use shorter words, bike, fuck, bus, and they shock and pierce the fabric of the smooth rap.
He talks about the war, Bush, Iraq. I feel goosebumps all over my skin. He articulates my political views so perfectly, using a couple of verses and a drumbeat.
How these words must unite people.
The track ends and I am almost breathless, not yet ready to commit to a new song.
If only music really did unite people in this way.
It is 9.30pm and I am in the kitchen.
My jeans stink of barbeques, my bair feet are dusty from all the walking in flip flops across gardens and parks.
My hair is matted from smoke and my skin tinted pink, and sore from all the sun. My top has grass stains on from all the lounging around with good friends and good conversation.
My head is absolutely killing. For some unknown reason my back aches. I am full of cold and I have utterly lost my voice. I help myself to a paracetamol and down it with a pint of water.
“Film’s starting,” my Dad calls.
Watching a film. With no guilt.
I look at the sunset across from my garden and smile.
Oh shit, I think.
It is 11:20am and I have only just realised what the question is about. I flick through my booklet and cross out everything I had written on the Alcock principle. Since when is high blood pressure psychiatric harm Billygean? When?
I pick up my pen and frantically start rambling about Page v Smith and how they might want to claim using remoteness. I can hear the ticking of the clock as I try and fudge together a 40% answer. I can hear someone’s shoes shuffling. I glare at them and tap my pen and flick uselessly through my statute book.
I start to feel the rising panic. I know the rest of the paper is good but this question could totally fail me. I write fast until my hand burns, large scrawling letters, dropping case names every other word for extra marks. My pen scratches across the paper.
“You may now stop writing,” the invigilator booms.
I pick up my stuff and leave.
And then.
Bliss.
Got up at 8 this morning having had a mild panic last night and revised remoteness until two. Could not sleep because was panicking. This is not good!
Woke up this morning and has typical day before exam feelings.
Looked down at pad of paper this morning and practically fainted. Whenever I look down I feel dizzy.
Seriously I actually cannot afford not to cram today, this exam is tough and I do not yet know my stuff. ANY tips of how to throw off a fluey thing because I absolutely need to be able to look at my paper tomorrow without nearly throwing up.
Just had massive nosebleed in bed. All over contributory negligence textbook.
I am not best pleased.
