The old saying goes ‘school days are the best days of your life’. I think this is about as true as carrots helping with night vision or crusts making hair curl. I hated school.
I think I had already figured out that most of the things we were learning would have no practical application in real life. Knowing the symbols for chemical elements, the cause of an oxbow lake or the relationship between Hermia and Helena would all be a pointless took the interest away from whatever the government decided that we were being taught.
My last day at high school was an odd one. We had a big assembly and all the people I expected to stand up and read their own poetry did exactly that, lots of people (including the drama teacher) cried and I just couldn’t get it. What were they all upset about? Are they really going miss hours of essay writing, trigonometry or hockey in the rain?
My walk home that day was possibly the happiest I had ever been. I knew I had exams coming up but didn’t care, the worst was over.
Exam results day also seemed unnecessary. I left it most of the day before working up the effort to go back to school to collect the envelope, it just didn’t seem important. It was only when I started getting phone calls from concerned family members that I finally went but by then I had heard the usual news reports about exams were getting easier and so our achievements were worthless and I think I agreed.
I did fine in my exams and since then nobody has ever asked what grade I got in my religious studies GCSE, which is good as I don’t remember anyway.