Yesterday, my Dad took me and Roe to Churchill College, Cambridge, since we both had interviews there. At 8am, I thought: heech! I must go on the Internet, because I won't get another chance today! So I went online and skimmed through my e-mail. There was one from Will from the previous night, asking if I was online. He'd been trying to phone. I answered, saying no, it was aevil Noj who had been online for about three hours. And with that done, I rushed out of the house.

Half way to Cambridge, I suddenly realised that I had failed to delete my signature in that e-mail. Which meant, Will had the URL for this site!

[Since this site was rather more personal and angst-filled at that point in time . . .] NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

As it turned out, he didn't come here. He saw the link but didn't follow it, just deleted the e-mail. But now he's curious to know what he missed. Gah!

There's a Zobo Creat word, "box-worthy". It means important. Literally "worthy of drawing a box around". It was Smill's idea, since her Maths teacher is always drawing boxes around important formulae. Near Cambridge, there is a town called Boxworth! Extreme Coolness!

Speaking of Smill, in a bookshop in Cambridge, Roe spotted a book by an author with the surname "Rohan". It was between two Terry Pratchett books - who just so happens to be his favourite author. And it was directly above "Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow" by Peter Hoeg.

My conclusion? Roe and Smill can't stay apart! They belong together!

The interview . . . hmm. The first part was scary. The interviewer asked me what i to the power of i was. (i being the square root of negative one.) I knew the answer - it's about 0.208 - and I knew this came from using the equation e to the power of pi times i equals -1. But I wasn't sure how this came about and when I asked my Maths teacher a few months ago, he didn't know either. The aevil geen of an interviewer asked Roe the infinitely simpler questions of "What is 17 times 17?" and "What the square root of 0.3, roughly?" Mimph!

Then he asked me about current events. Gloops. I had been listening to the radio all day, and therefore heard several news broadcasts, but what he wasn't too impressed with my knowledge of the escaped death row prisoners and the reduced BSE risk, which had been the main stories. Good thing I didn't mention the couple who would pay ten thousand pounds for the return of their cat. What he wanted to know about was Iraq, Pinochet and Hurricane Mitch. Iraq and Hurricane Mitch hadn't been mentioned at all. I knew a little about the hurricane from being in Parliament, but that was three weeks ago, and therefore outdated. I had no idea what the capital of Honduras was. Pinochet had been mentioned briefly, but it had been too garbled for me to absorb any details.

"What's his first name then?" the interviewer asked.

Come on, brain, think! I told myself.

"Is it just Pinochet Pinochet, like Duran Duran?" he prompted.

The second interview was considerably better. They gave me this mathematical problem concerning a language consisting only of the letters P and A. Sounds very Zobo Creatish!

PPP APPAP PAAPP A = I am a geen. AAAPA PPAA = Scankwench.

I worked my way through the stages of this problem, eventually reaching a general formula (although I was very confused by this stage since they wouldn't give me anything to write with). But, when I consulted Roe, he had got stuck at a much earlier stage, which gave me hope.

So, I don't know. Churchill College admits twelve computer science students every year, which sounds like nothing, but it's about the highest amount at any Cambridge college. Trouble is, 75% of their intake is from state schools which means there are a grand total of three places available to people like me. Probability of both Roe and myself being accepted is approximately a seventeenth of the square root of i to the power of i

There's always the pool, though. (People who don't get into the Cambridge college of their choice can be accepted by others.) And I do have four other offers, including York who I had to have an interview with. And I'm still waiting to hear from Edinburgh. So, at least I have options. I won't hear from Cambridge until early January though.

It's National AIDS Day today. (Or is it International?) Since I'm currently writing a novel involving AIDS (it's about 300 words long so far. Expected length = 100000 words), I thought, "Coolness! There'll be some programmes on TV I can watch tonight."

There isn't a single one.

Oh well. There's something about same-sex parents on at 9.30. That'll do!

Later

Blarg! My TV decided not to work so I missed it!

Thursday 3 December 1998

Today, I was meant to have History the first two periods, but the teacher was at yet another conference. "Get on with your personal studies", he said but no way: I had other things to do. Namely getting on with my religion speech. So me and Smill went to the careers library to work on it . . . and I got about six lines written in an hour.

It was impossible. Smill said, "The figure in the shroud was five foot eleven" and we discussed how tall that was in ancient times, which progressed to how tall everyone we knew was, which went onto . . . it was good fun though. We gossiped about everyone's love lives. "This is great!" I said. "We get to talk about everyone, and they can't talk about us because there's nothing to be said!"

I had a driving lesson today. It was fine, but grr. "What did you think of that?" my instructor kept asking, and I kept saying, "It was ok." "Just ok?" she persisted. Won't she ever see that Zed does not, under any circumstances, compliment herself? (Except where playing Bloxed is concerned and my ability in that is more of an embarrassment than something to be proud of.)

Monday 7 December 1998

Today, instead of my usual three free lessons, I had five since History and RE were cancelled. I spent break playing darts with Smill. I was winning by miles, but somehow she ended up three points ahead of me when the bell rang and we never got round to finishing the game.

Lesson 5, I expected a teacher to supervise the carrels, as is the usual order of the universe, meaning I'd have to work, but none appeared. So I spent the first half discussing "Verbal Voodoo 3" with Chris and the second half playing table football with Smill. Smill eventually won at table football, but the match went on so long that we were late for Physics. It was about the worst Physics lesson I've ever had, anyway. I spent most of it colouring in rectangles in my student planner.

At lunch time, I illegally went to the shop across the road with Marion (who is eighteen today) and she bought a copy of a magazine. We "read" it over lunch time (it was mostly pictures). There were sixteen pages devoted to Ronan Keating and his wife and the Miss World contest. One sappy photo after another. BLARG! What is the world coming to? Who in their right mind would buy such a thing? (Marion is, clearly, not in her right mind.)

During what should have been RE, more hanging around in the carrels, talking, since that lesson was unsupervised too. In lesson eight, Roe and I followed Will to the computer room. Although he claimed to be going there to work, he accepted the invitation to play Bloxed. I was winning, no trublem, but then my history teacher came into the room.

Will hit escape as quickly as possible, but we were caught in the act. But who bore the brunt of his wrath? Was it Will, who is so aevil that he wasn't even made a prefect? Was it Roe, who is a known troublemaker? No, neither of them were blamed at all. It was poor ickle Zed.

He yelled at me because I'm two chapters behind with my history personal study and should not be spending my time playing computer games. Which are against the rules anyway. Will and Frances (Alice's sister) protested that I was going to be a computer programmer, so it was necessary, but he didn't listen. He insisted in going through my file, even though I told him there was nothing in there that he hadn't already seen. Which is true: he's seen !Love and Bloxed before. But he did anyway and insisted in seeing !Feelings. He told me I shouldn't be using words like "wench". What on earth is wrong with "wench"? It was in last year's school play! In fact the English teacher wrote it in. And, as Noj told me later, it's in "Twelfth Night" as well: "Most excellent wench". But apparently it's bad, as is "scank", even though he doesn't know what it means.

And what does clever old Zed do after this? Following a conversation with Will, I go downstairs to get my Turin Shroud notes, and encounter my tutor in the corridor.

"Guess what?" I cry. "I got an offer from Edinburgh! They want two 'C's!" She's ecstatic. "And guess what else?" I say. "I've got two novels I've written for you to read."

"Great," she says, and I happily rush off to get them from the carrels. And so I hand her my ringbinder containing "Different Worlds" and "Tailgating".

Only later did I remember what the subtitle of the latter is: "Scankwench and Geezerbreath". Yup, containing both of the words my history teacher considers so bad. Gloops.

I spent lesson nine working on my Turin Shroud speech and after school, Smill, Roe and myself played the computer version of consequences which he'd written during lesson 9. It has advantages and disadvantages over the paper version. But the results were funny. "Chris Bagot met Camilla Thomson in the chapel." I ended up writing about gay porno movies again. After ending up in another one, Smill vowed to never play consequences at school again. I'll convince her otherwise when the time comes.

Then I played table football with Smill and had a clarinet lesson.

Friday 11 December 1998

Today began with a double free, which I spent conversing and playing computer consequences with Roe and Will. Two of the consequences began "Will met Zed". Then I had Physics, in which we did exciting questions about cyclotrons. Then triple free. Should have been triple Maths, but the teacher wasn't there.

At lunch time we had a band practice for the carol service. I had been counting on missing triple Physics as a result, but alas, it was over by 1.40. Triple Physics is usually one lesson of theory and two practical, both with Mr G. But today we had two lessons of practical with Mr D followed by one of theory with Mr G. I was the only girl in the first two lessons, since the other five had a choir practice. So, denied of my lovely partner Smill, I worked with Chris.

Now me and Smill mess around a lot. We have magnet fights and play hockey with metre sticks and ball bearings. Now multiply that much messing around by hundred. That's how I spent those Physics lessons. Amazingly, we did come up with the magnetic field strength of a slinky but not until we'd tied it in knots, tried to use it as a skipping rope and decorated the oscilloscope with elastic bands.

Well, really, why would you ever need the magnetic field strength of a slinky? As long as it goes down stairs in an entertaining fashion, it's good enough for me.

In the third lesson, Smill returned, but there was no Mr G. And she spent the entire thing talking to Roe! I couldn't believe it - but it just proves what I've always said. They do like each other!

After school, Paul and I went to the computer room to play Bloxed (and I won totally), while Roe and Chris wrote a program called "Killa Thompson" in which an image of Smill (well, more like a circle and two rectangles) moves across the screen, and you have to shoot it (well, point the mouse at it and click.) Although it was Chris's idea, I might take back the comment at the end of the last paragraph.

The carol service was at five thirty, and it was exactly the same as it's always been. Same hymns, same choir songs, same readings, same rush to get out at the end, while the band are still playing. Admittedly the piece we played wasn't worth listening to, but it's a bit rude, nonetheless. The only vaguely interesting thing was one of the candles setting fire to the decorations, but they were bravely rescued by my former biology teacher / pseudo-godfather.

After the service, I rushed to get changed, only to have to wait another twenty minutes before Will and Paul were ready to go. We travelled to Deep Pan Pizza (chauffeured by Will's mother - Will only passed his driving test (on the fifth attempt) yesterday, so I don't trust his driving yet) where Chris and Roe were waiting. We intended to go to the cinema afterwards, but didn't finish till 8.25 which was when the film started. So we went to The Turf (a pub) instead. I travelled in the back of Chris's Mini, which cost less than his bass clarinet.

Everyone (nearly all the lower and upper sixth, and some of the former upper sixth) was at The Turf. Marion wasn't, so I went outside (accompanied by Will, in order to give everyone the wrong idea) and tried to phone her. But either the phone wasn't working or the line was engaged. I had the same trouble when I tried to phone home.

Smill wasn't there either. When Will asked her why she wasn't coming out, the response was an angry, "I have no transport, I have far too much work to do, and no one invited me! MIMPH!" But Will and I were the only ones that would have agreed to her presence. (And Roe, secretly.)

Wednesday 16 December 1998

For seventeen years, four months, five days and nine hours, I managed to exist without seeing "Star Wars". But double games was cancelled and we managed to convince our history teacher to cancel history too, and so, this afternoon, in the sixth form common room, my innocence was forever lost indeed. (I wasn't the only one, though: Helen Wo hadn't seen it either.)

In the middle of an exciting dramatic riveting edge-of-your-bed dream last night about the inter-house quiz, an angry buzzing sounded in my ear. I rammed my fist down on the button of my alarm clock. That was the fourth time it had interrupted me. It was 7.30. "Just a few more minutes," I thought, switching off the snooze alarm.

Back in dreamworld Marion kept saying, "Get up, you've got to get to school and tell me all the gossip." I eventually agreed at 7.48.

At school, Marion turned up in registration. MARION Turned Up in REGISTRATION! But that denies all laws of life, the universe and everything! Marion has not turned up in registration for the last four years! Admittedly, she comes to school practically every day now (naturally, last Wednesday when I happened to be off school at my grandmother's funeral she didn't bother to come in). But registration? What was going on?

Ok, I'm here, I thought. Now what of what gossip did she speak?

Chemistry was cancelled as well, so Smill (who does it) and I spent a double free playing pool and table football. When the bell rang for lunch, I suggested we carried on with these activities at lunch time, and she seemed to agree.

I waited in the carrels for her, doing some History revision. (Marion, having come into school for registration, had promptly left again.) I checked my watch. 1pm. Where was she? I did some more History. 1.15pm. Had the food chain reversed and her lunch eaten her? I did some more History. 1.30pm. She wasn't going to turn up. I did some more History. The bell rang signalling the end of lunch, and I was pleased with how much work I'd got done, but where was Smill?

Paul came into the carrels. "Have you seen Roe anywhere?"

"Nope. Have you seen Smill?"

"Yes, lots of times."

I sighed. "This lunchtime, I mean."

"Nope."

"Hmm . . . maybe they've gone missing together."

Presently Roe entered the carrels. "I was working on the lunch duty rota," he said. Smill came in a minute or two later. "I was in the small carrels," she explained.

I have my doubts, though, it has to be said. Roe sent Smill a Christmas card (while other people accidentally-on-purpose did not). Not only that, but he personalised it, by drawing a Canadian flag on the front. (She used to live in Canada, and boy, do we know it!) "He's got it wrong," she said, "but then, I didn't know what the flag actually looked like until this morning."

Tuesday 22 December 1998

Yesterday was my first official day of revision. "History, Physics, Maths," I wrote on my revision plan. Two hours of each. By the end of the day, I had done perhaps three hours of history.

The day kicked off in the usual manner of holiday days. I got up not long after eight and got my Internet fix. But I got caught up looking at the Vampire Chronicles Immortality Awards and trying to work out what had happened to the spec archive . . . heech, what time was it?

All was not lost. It was only five past nine. I'd intended to start revising at nine o'clock, but nevermind. Maybe ten.

I had breakfast, had a shower and got dressed. I tidied up my room a bit and got my books out. Then something compelled me to go downstairs just before ten, and I found that the post had arrived. A million Christmas cards for my parents, and a letter and Writer's News for me.

I read the letter and put it aside, and fought the temptation to look at Writer's News. I fought this temptation for, oh, a good five minutes. Then read it.

At twenty to eleven, I kicked into History revision. I made notes about the rest of Disraeli's second administration (only interrupted by a parcel for me arriving: a letter, card, tape and present from my penpal Jen). I had a quick lunch break, and made notes on the second reform act. By that time it was one o'clock, and it was now time for my lunch hour.

I wrote a card to my penpal Judith, then picked up my letters to my foreign penpals and headed into the Vale Of Tyranny That Is Brampton to post them. I survived (just about) and went home.

On getting back, I realised that if I wanted my card and present to have any chance of reaching Jen by Christmas, I was going to have to write to that today. So I wrote a letter.

After some further messing around it was three o'clock, and I had to get back into revision. Rather than try to get into Physics mode, I decided to continue with History, making this a Historical day and doing Physics the next day. So I made notes on Gladstone and Ireland . . . but by three thirty, I had to read "A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man". Well, it was relevant! I wanted to emphathise with people in the situations I was learning about. I always do that with History, I think about people living under those circumstances and make up stories about them. So I read that until four, then . . . went on the Internet!

I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I set about rereading my November and December entries, changing the colour schemes of the November ones. I have no idea why I reread them all - I practically know them off by heart already - but I couldn't help myself.

Just before six, I went back upstairs and started some revision . . . but then my mother came home, wielding a blank cassette, as I'd requested. (There are advantages to having parents who own a music shop.)

Well, I had to make my tape for Jen sometime this evening, so better to do it sooner rather than later. I could revise at the same time, or so I thought. After two songs, I found it wasn't working, and set about doing something less vital. Like working on the story I had started the story the previous day.

Originally intended to be an exploration of the activities and thoughts of a girl who spends all her time updating her homepage and hanging out at UBBs, bashing pages and domains-with-badly-disguised-names, it had grown in my mind into the story of a short-lived lesbian relationship. I had planned it all out as I lay awake in bed the previous night and it made me happy, and I was determined to finish it.

So I wrote between changing CDs and making a list of tracks and when I'd finished the tape, I wasn't quite ready to stop. So I listened to the tape (I liked it! I wanted to keep it!), then to the Sleeper album that happened to be in my CD player, then to Jen's tape a few times . . . and suddenly, my story was was 8500 words long and finished, and it was 1.30am!

I was immensely happy to have accomplished something.

Shame it wasn't revision.

Monday 28 December 1998

Today I phoned Will and informed him of my cunning plan to get Smill and Roe together. i.e. I invite Smill to the cinema and he invites Roe. Then either he and I don't turn up / go to another film / go in early / ensure that Smill and Roe have to sit next to each other, and make Roe spill his drink all over Smill, etc. He liked the plan immensely. Unfortunately, phase two (getting Smill to go) could not be put into action, since she was a twerk. (Say it out loud and it'll make sense.) I'll keep you informed of any progress, though.

Wednesday 30 December 1998

Had a phonecall from Will today, asking if I'd phoned Roe. Then he realised it was up to him to call Roe, and for me to phone Smill. Duh. Well, Smill hadn't called back yet, but we still managed to talk for over an hour. He asked me for help with this heauge crossword puzzle and I was able to provide assistance, aided by my trusty "Guinness Book Of Hit Albums". And how could he not realise that "Tapes (9)" was "cassettes"?

After I hung up, I asked my mother about the crossword. She knew who the member of The Who (9) was and French painter (8, first letter R, third U). So I told Will this, then called the Smillic one. She had been trying to phone me, but the line had been engaged. We discussed Christmas and carpet (seriously!) and the Plan of Action.

I was quite surprised at how innocent I sounded. I am not good at lying and keeping secrets, but I put across the impression that it was just her and me, to go to the cinema. And I felt innocent too, I almost forgot about the real reason we were going.

But then she asked what was on at the cinema, and what I wanted to see. Thing is, Will wants to see "Antz"; Roe, last time I heard, "The Mask Of Zorro"; and me, "The Parent Trap." (They went on about it so much in The Babysitters Club that I feel the need to see it.) So she said, "We don't have to go to the cinema after all. You could come to my house and spend the night and watch 'Titanic'."

Well, this didn't sound so bad (Leo! Keweliez! He's my starboisign!) but it was not good for the plan. "We could do both," I said, and she said, "Yeah!"

But, as of yet, we don't know when we're going to the cinema, and we don't know what we're going to see. If Smill wants to see whatever-it-is-with-Will-Smith-in-it, which seems the most likely, then we have a problem. We'll all go to the cinema, but be in four different theatres.

Thursday 31 December 1998

At 12.15 last night, I left the computer to watch the second part of "42 Up" (an ongoing documentary about a bunch of geens; they were first interviewed when they were seven, and from then on, they've been interviewed every seven years). At 1.30 it was over, and after a beanbag fight with Noj, I went to check my e-mail again, before going to bed at 2.30.

At 9am my mother told me she was going to work, but I must have fallen back to sleep. Because all too soon, it was 11.20 and the telephone was ringing. I crawled out of bed, grabbed the receiver and croaked "Hello?"

It was Roe. Unbelievable, that he, of all people should be awake before me. "Have you heard?" he asked. Meaning: the results of the Cambridge interviews.

I said no, but only because I hadn't checked the mail yet. I'd assumed the offer wouldn't be coming today, because usually my parents inform me of any post that's arrived. But maybe it had come late?

He hadn't got in. I wasn't entirely surprised - his interview with the admissions tutor has been as bad as mine, and his second interview had been worse. But it was hard to join him in slagging off the admissions tutor. All I could think about was my own letter, presumably awaiting me downstairs.

We hung up and I checked the mail. Something for my mother, a letter from one of my penpals, and sure enough, the envelope with my name printed on it. It was thick, and I couldn't help thinking, "Rejection letters aren't thick, are they?" Nevertheless, I opened my other letter first, then turned to the envelope of DOOM.

The bleeping thing wouldn't open! I looked around for the letter opener Dad had made Mum for Christmas, but that was nowhere to be seen. But after a lot of concentration, I managed to rip into the envelope. I removed the pieces of paper and tried to quickly absorb what they'd said.

Dear "Zed"

We have now considered your application for admission here to read for a BA Honours Degree in Computer Science. I am pleased to be able to tell you that we have decided to offer you a place for October 1999, subject to certain conditions. These conditions relate, of course, to your forthcoming examinations and the grades you will need to obtain. These are as follows:

Mathematics, Further Mathematics, Physics -- AAA...

W00t! I have a (provisional) place at Cambridge!

The rest of the applicants must have been pretty dodgy, bearing in mind I don't even know what RAM stands for.

But all my worries have been in vain. I have six offers from universities. Now I have to decide where I want to go . . .