Tuesday 21 January 2014

250 Words: I was his personal homework diary (or Day Book, didn’t our school call them? Day often pronounced “Gay”: hilarious, I'm sure you'll agree)

He’d ring up every evening shortly after six when his parents’ phone rates changed.  It annoyed my parents immensely as this was the time we sat down to tea back then.  I wasn’t so bothered, though, was pleased to help.  And, anyway, we weren’t having cooked dinners at that time so nothing was getting cold.

He’d ring up and ask what homework we had to hand in the following day and I would stand in the kitchen and run through our timetables in my head, working through the day from 1st to 8th period, stating each lesson then saying what, if anything, we had to do that evening.  Maybe an essay or problems from the textbook. 

This was, mostly if not entirely, during the GCSE years, Years 10 and 11, when I wasn’t in all his classes, so I’d have to either jog his memory for Maths, Business Studies and Geography- I’m sure he would often tell me!- or perhaps he had other go to guys for those…

It was certainly a mutually beneficial relationship as I mostly did my homework the night before it was due and so these communications must have helped remind me of pieces of work I might have forgotten about, helped eliminate my own need for a homework diary. 

I was his personal homework diary and I was happy to be so for my neighbour in so many lessons, the boy with many of the whispered words that helped get me through the schooldays.

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