chess: (radioactive miseryguts)
./~ I was looking for an offer
And then I found an offer
And heaven knows I'm miserable now ~\. - The Smiths, paraphrased.

The good news: Churchill gave me an offer. (But hold on, because anyone offering me congratulations at this point is likely to find themselves on the wrong end of a very sharp pointy stick.)

If you're comfortable with such things, imagine a liberal sprinkling of vicious swear words through the next section.

The bad news: They want *1,2* in STEP II and III. (In case you're unfamiliar with the vaugrities of the Cambridge system, that means 'stupidly high grades on utterly evil and horrible and generally bad-news maths papers'.)

Excuse me while I storm around and use various forms of a certain word beginning with 'f' an awful lot.

It didn't help that my parents decided it would be a lovely idea to wake me up and wave said envelope of doom in my face, forcing me to open it and in fact actually say 'Bloody hell, they want one,two?' in the presence of said parents, then burst into tears, due to being rather insufficiantly psychologically prepared in my half-awake state. They were lucky my exclamation didn't contain any stronger language.

I am not, currently, a particularly happy Chessypig.
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Michelle Taylor

January 2025

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