Back to school is uniformly terrible
Even though it's nearly 30 years since I last put on a school uniform, I still get depressed when I see those three little words — back to school. Yuck!
As a child, going back to school after the summer holidays was hell. Having to wear socks again. And shoes! And the big heavy school bag, draggin' the shoulder off you with all the new books.
Never mind “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”, for me, September was always the season of resistance.
Sitting slumped at my desk beside the window in double maths, daydreaming as I stared longingly at cars driving on the main road. Freedom!
Wishing I could be grown-up already so that I'd be Lindsay Wagner and he'd be Paul Newman and we'd drive a station wagon with wooden panels on the side and shop in supermarkets where they packed your groceries in brown paper bags.
But it wasn't to be.
My transport would still be a steamy overcrowded bus. I'd never be the Bionic Woman, just a girl with glasses and a bad haircut. And as for Paul Newman well he probably did get his messages in a brown bag, but I was never there with him.
September — death of freedom. Commiserations to you all.