June 8 (Tuesday): I wake up after a really restless night. I find have slept on my tv remote and mobile phone. The sheet has come off my duvet and the duvet itself appears to have turned inside out within the cover. And I had a dream I was eating a giant marshmallow and when I wake up, my pillow is missing (ok, I made that one up). I’m in a weird mood; I’m laid back but pseudo panicky. I feel absent minded but carefree, so what if I forget to take pens, someone will lend me a pencil case.

I drive the A12 and get the Chelmsford by 9.00, a full hour before the exam. Whoops. I sit listening to Moyles, attempting last minute revision. Moyles makes me wet myself and I am way too relaxed (I think the St John’s Wort is finally kicking in). Sarah, Azmei and Phoebe all text me wishing me “good luck�, points scored there girls (yes I am that fickle). I wear my Millwall shirt for the sitting to look like Captain Thug the accountant that should really be in Portugal today. Prior to entering the exam hall I see a few faces I recognise but I’m too twitchy to indulge any of them. The exam begins and the questions seem funny. My approach is poor, I am making too many notes on the question paper and soon I realise that I have wasted half an hour of the three. Maybe the fact the first question is about a zoo throws me, I AM AN ACCOUNTANT JIM, NOT A VETERINARIAN. I also look around and wonder “what do the invigilators do for the rest of the year?� The exam actually turns out to be fucking hard and I write twenty pages on audit in three hours only making the minimum of my answers up on the spot.

After the exams I remain too twitchy to indulge my acquaintances. I drive bemused, half confident and half confused. The radio is good stuff though, scarily playing great songs by people beginning with the letter S, and this is not on purpose. Indulging in the Sugababes, Scissor Sisters, Strokes doing “Someday� and Rachel Stevens soon turns me around. I got into Sainsbury to continue the S motif and buy Strepsils for my Sore throat. I Stagger around in my Millwall, larging it hoping to look like a Shoplifter (and definitely not a Shirt lifter). When I get home, Ivan texts asking if I can play Soccer tomorrow. I answer “Sure!� The afternoon is a dead lose, the Sweltering Sun and heat renders me incapable of further Study for tomorrow’s tax exam. Whoops, this is really needed. I can’t concrete though, as when I arrive home my groundskeeper obviously wants a conversation and I obviously don’t. He is Strange, Simple and in this heat probably Smelly. Call me a Snob but I defy you to do any different. I now expect him however to Scratch my car and dent it with his Shovel Spade as soon as I return to work. Further from this, in the afternoon to proceed to pester Sara on MSN instead of any tax revision. I am too laid back. And thus ends today’s paragraph of incidents beginning with S.

Phoebe texts in the afternoon telling me that my text about the exam (“I’m an accountant not a vet!�) made her laugh out loud. I now realise the last ten text messages logged in my phone are all from her.

Whoops, I take the rest of the evening easy (ie do not pick up a book)

Today’s blog has been brought to you by the letter S and the number 100%

np: Folk Implosion – Free To Go