I have a confession to make.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if the love of my life is not a little bit on the slobby side of things. Like today when Stephen came over again he walked into the room wearing nothing but his boxers and a serious case of bed-hair.
There the man I love was looking like he was trying to be a replacement for Onslow on “Keeping up Appearances”. While yours truly must be fully dressed before I leave the bedroom, he can happily wander around almost in his birthday-suit, without a second thought. Hell, he doesn’t even have a first thought about it.
If he’d scratched his arse or his balls while standing there, it wouldn’t have been out of character with that appearance. I have tried not to make him a Project, but sometimes I’m sorely tempted.
“It’s only Stephen,” he says. As if that makes any difference. I’m the only one that gets to see my man nearly naked. Haroumph.
I have also made a decision.
This year I’m doing an Extended Project Qualification, which is an independent research project where I will have to research and write a dissertation of at least 5000 words. This dissertation will have to be defended at a panel of teachers and staff at my school at the end of the year.
I’ve been scrabbling around for ideas for ages, but now I’ve settled on 18th century non-fiction. Most, if not all, of my peers will try to study Shakespeare and Dickens and what-not. I think few will consider that literature before the modern era made no distinction between non-fiction and fiction as such. That is why the writing of Churchill, for instance, is considered great literature.
What I will write about is the environment that fostered people like Hazlitt to emerge. That means it will be a combination of history and literature, so to speak.
I do think that most of my peers will, when they apply for university later, focus on pure fiction. So, maybe doing it this way will set me enough apart from the crowd to make my application accepted?
It is only two days left until school starts, and I’m starting to become a bit nervous.
It’s going to be nice to see everyone again, particularly Ben, and I hope that he’s forgotten that I owe him a case of drinks still. With my luck it’s going to be the first thing he mentions when he sees me, though.
Since Ben doesn’t live in this town but in a nearby one, I haven’t actually seen much of him since we came back from Sweden. I do wonder what his summer has been like, and what he’s done.
Probably nothing, since he doesn’t appear to want to do anything with his parents, and unlike yours truly he’s not free to go off on his own.
Anyway, I’m constantly amazed by the strange little inefficiencies of the English in that they start a school year on a Friday – as if anyone is getting anything done on a day when everyone will be looking forward to the weekend.
It will just a few hours of madness as everyone rushes about to their rooms to get the schedules and to sign in for the year with the teachers. Then everyone will go home.