Yesterday, Pompey footing-ball club won 4-0 against fellow giants "Grimsby", I think I'd lose if I had a name like that. So that is what all the footing-ball-mad people were talking about today, even all the way through PE, and we were doing tennis. But I suppose the thing that mattered most to me was getting 40/40 on the maths test. This is something I'd never managed before - not because I'm a 7/40 innumerate cowpoke (with apologies to all those cow-pokers and associated dairy workers out there with degrees in applied maths) but because I am a regular 38 or 39/40 merchant, the eternal arithmetical bridesmaid.
Our project group had artistic differences about exactly what we could put on our market stall about wartime rationing, the chocolate bar prizes just had to go and we're now going to forge authentic ration books instead.
And after school I was just gently Minecrafting myself a 3x3 piston door when the actual door went and it was Dear Follower Martin, a person I have known since baby-times as a funny fan of mine, but who I regularly mix up with Blind Uncle Len, who died 5 years ago aged 92.
And so I showed him around and we spoke of physics, as you do. Then the others got home and there was a load of incomprehensible burbling, and not from me this time. Later, the fog descended and the ferries and passing night-time ships mooed their foghorns incessantly. I have heard this before (deja mu) but it's still pretty annoying.