Friday Posting, and A Top Five

And lo, the author cometh! Out of the freezing void, dripping wet, and wondering why the laundry machines not only have to be situated on the floor below, but also have to devour such awkward amounts of her spare change.

First things first: apologies. We’ve left this poor blog alone for far too long, we know. Very naughty of us. Ten points from Marylebone and all those good things.

The good news is, this is all going to change. Despite my self-appointed status as Queen of the Procrastinators (a job I’ll start doing tomorrow, honestly!), I’ve also appointed myself another job. That is, posting. My aim and goal is to post on this blog every Friday. Maybe this will devolve to every other Friday during times of high stress, such as holidays or exam periods, but this is my sticky bun and I, like Sticky the Stick Insect, am sticking to it.

And what manner of excitement shall herald my return from the great beyond? Trumpets? Celestial choirs? Exploding toasters made of cookie dough?

A list. But not just any list. This! Is!

Charley’s Top Five Proofs That You Went To Boarding School!

  • Latin. Although the subject is offered in a great many schools across the UK, and quite possibly a great many more across the globe, there’s nothing like a jolly old boarding experience to convince you it’s perfectly normal for modern English to co-exist with a language that’s not been spoken since our ancestors were running around painted blue. Bonus points if you can still remember your old school motto!
  • Matrons. You can tell a lot about a student by what they thought of their pastoral staff. But, whether she was a welcome friend and comfort during the tough times, or a fire-breathing gorgon come to turn you to stone as she steals your duvet to get you out of bed first thing on a far-too-early Monday Morning, there’s no greater example of the boarding experience than good ol’ matron.
  • House Pride. Sports day is terrifying enough anywhere, particularly if you’re like me and have the sporting prowess of a beansprout. Same goes for any competition, I suppose. But things get raised to a whole new level when each boarding house becomes its own little city state, dons its war paint, raises its banners and marches onto the field (quite literally!) to sing, scream and sprint itself hoarse for its members. Celebratory or comiserative pyjama parties in the snug and hiding the stains from the spilled celebratory lemonade are, of course, compulsory follow-ups.
  • Outdated Language. “We’d better hurry up to lessons, or it’ll be tardy slips all round. No, I will not lend you my history prep, the last time that happened you forgot to give it back and I got gated for a week! I’m not missing out on another night at the stick again for all the jelly beans in the world.” The exactitudes will vary from school to school, many taking root from something particular in the school’s history, but there’s nothing like the confused looks from all your new university friends to remind you what a strange educational plane you came from.
  • Tearful Goodbyes. I do so hate to end on a somber note, but it’s true. With only the occasional weekend set aside for homeward travel, the bonds you make in a boarding school are as close, I think, as those of a family. Years are spent with these people, misadventures are had, victories celebrated, defeats suffered, and sometimes you wonder how you’ll ever cope outside of your second home. When goodbye comes, it’s like leaving home for a second time. You never realise how far away your best friends are until you remember they live on the other side of the world – and this year, there’ll be no half-crazed travelling day to allow for a cramped reunion in the corridor.

There you have it! The first post of the New Year, and of the new St Mallory’s blog posting schedule! All questions, comments, and lampooning remarks are welcome!

See you next week,

~ Charley R.

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5 thoughts on “Friday Posting, and A Top Five

  1. I did Latin for three years. I remember nothing except the word “furcifer” and the fact that Caecilius was not in horto, it was Metella. Caecilius was in the tablinium, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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