The girl is back in town... (From Gazette & Herald)

The girl is back in town...

Teenage columnist HANNAH GIBBONS is back and she's rather pleased with herself...

LIFE'S just been one big triumph since I last graced these very pages, success has sniffed at my heels like a well-fed corgi - and while I'm not one to boast, recently, if you don't mind me saying, the girl's done good.

Gold star number one - a big fat pass of my driving test, with no more than nine minors, I'll have you know, and not one fatality. Whether I have actually ventured out solo, or at all, since getting my licence is highly irrelevant - clearly, if I felt the need, I am absolutely capable of zipping round the county and parking in tight spaces and not dissolving into tears and stopping the engine to ring my mum if things go wrong.

Gold star number two came in a fit of Oscar-winning-style surprise - I was elected by my peers to be the head of my house at school, to lead us to triumph in sports day and er... that's probably about it. While I'd like to put my election down to my obvious leadership qualities and my kindness extended to all members of the school community, I'm a little more inclined to attribute it to an impressive natural disaster near-miss, and a little flick of my golden mane when my name was read out as a candidate.

That's not to say that I wasn't delighted and honoured at my new position, if not a little embarrassed considering I've only recently come to terms with the idea of house loyalty and stopped attending various other house meetings based on which sounded the most exciting in the given month.

And I'd love to report that gold star number three came thanks to the rational, calm and fantastic completion of my AS level exams, but we can't ask for everything can we?

And anyway, what kind of staid person would I be if I didn't let my impassioned and artistic temperament get the better of systematic and intelligent revision?

In short, my revision plan of procrastination until the 11th hour of panic-stricken cramming, followed by near breakdown and too much caffeine, led (probably predictably from the outside) to a less-than-smooth exam period. Couple that with a near life-threatening cold (and that's playing it down - were I a man, I would have called it 'flu) quelled with a concoction of Tixilix, aspirin and something yellow from the school nurse, and let's just say I was more than a little skittish during English Lit (well that's how all the masters worked best, was it not?)

The cream of the crop on bad exams was surely history - honestly, I'm glad I took it when I did because I was a 15th century monarch away from rocking myself to sleep in a corner muttering comparisons between financial policies under my breath. That's not to say I took it in an entirely fit state of mind - after a good pep talk from myself, I entered the exam full of self-conviction and perky optimism. I emerged to the chatter of more intelligent people reliving their correct answers in a way that sank my heart and made me think, oh you silly, silly girl, Hannah. What do you think you look like, with your glittery skirt, trying to cut it with these cool and calm and collected superiors? Boring clothes are the answer! It was a low moment, I'll tell you.

But, ever onwards! Exams have been long forgotten in favour of mastering bay parking in the school car park without losing the credibility gained from passing in the first place, and to the tireless campaign to find a javelin thrower from Year Eight and the like. Two out of three ain't bad...

Updated: 14:10 Wednesday, June 29, 2005