December 1 (Mum’s Birthday Wednesday): Rockers Against Drugs Suck. This morning I find myself awakened at the ungodly hour of 6AM so that I can get to Shepherd’s Bush in time to get to a tax mock at BPP. I’m not happy, I don’t want to do this. Against the odds I make the 6.51 train and fly into the City.

I hope a pretty easy Central Line tube (grabbing a Metro in the process) and find myself really suffering for it. As I sit on the train and near White City (West London) I can feel my whole body just sparkling inside, acid to the core. Is this the inevitable diabetes I’m bound to catch from my dad finally kicking in? Whatever, I feel fucking rough. Or maybe it is just ADD kicking in.

When I get off at Shepherd’s Bush I head to the closest shop and buy some Refreshers, maybe all I need is some sugar. Or maybe once I get a caffeine fix, all will be well. As I stagger to the college, next to hyperventilating, I see the scary tax tutor who acknowledges me on the town. I barely recognise her, Christ she must think I’m an idiot.

I arrive and there is the Phoebe already arrived, looking composed and cool (cold) as usual. She is sweetness and as usual very friendly, very nice nice. She hands me the audit mock from yesterday (much appreciated) and when I look at the paperclip she has twisted/curled it around into a heart shape. Talk about play with my mind. We talk quite a bit prior to today’s mock, me with much gusto and enthusiasm in an effort to convince everyone (most of all myself) that my current position/situation of employment is acceptable.

We do the tax mock and despite having an obvious struggle it doesn’t turn out to be as difficult and double dutch as I was expecting it would be to me. However the guy sat next to me from Ernst & Young (I see his head paper) huffs and puffs his way through the mock, appearing to spend long periods of the three hour exam just staring into space. That is an example of NFL behaviour? And likewise, someone else struggles as this amazing looking girl sat in the front picks up her coat and leaves within fifteen minutes of the commencement of the exam. Bye eye candy.

Personally, my own exam gets somewhat disturbed when I get Haslett (Sara) beginning to text me further mentioning her decision to move back to England and asking me to ask the tutor what the tax implications her doing so would be. Minimal I would imagine, I doubt she has that much money! I don’t bother asking.

I would say, even though the exam comes as something of a surprise in its clarity, I do find myself blagging (making up) too much of the answers still.

Three hours actually sail by (there was me doubting my ability to sit still for that period of time, ADD) and lunchtime comes around at the most welcome of time. Phoebe says she is getting a KFC and I jump at the opportunity to chow on the colonel’s beak. I buy a pop corn meal and the box appears endless, my super sized meal lasting forever. Kudos.

We spend the afternoon going over the mock answers and ouch I have gone severely wrong, especially worrying when I didn’t feel I was doing/going too badly. All looks bleak and I begin to hyperventilate.

At breaktime I go to the bathroom for some basic recuperation. I look around at the Shepherd’s Bush/White City skyline and I see the Queens Park Rangers ground and the BBC studios and it all seems another world to me, one where people can actually do/pass their tax exams.

Upon arrival back into the mock marking session I finally officially throw the towel in on advanced tax. After recent developments and circumstances, it was always going to be an exam against the elements and it doesn’t look as if I have managed to come out of the other side smiling (yet). This point is a real cross roads. You can just see/tell/pin point how vital now is and how life altering further failure at this point will be and how traceable back this time will be in months and years to come. These are low times.

I switch, my arms now crossed, body language which apparently states a sign of defensiveness. I look around though and I am not alone, many others around me sit arms crossed in horror.

And just as things feel that they can’t get any worse, Andy fucking Kaufman bleeps up with yet another silly question.

The day gets put out of it misery (and most students with it) as well pull out to go home around 4PM. I say “goodbye and good luck” to Phoebe realising that this will probably be the last time ever see her. I leave for home somewhat disillusioned, reading my Hunter S. Thompson book on a very packed train. At one point the woman sat opposite knocks my book with her shopping bag and I utter the word “cunt”. Did I say that out aloud?

When I get back to Bohemian Grove I mess about at home before leaving for my parents and mum’s birthday (with REM CD and cheap card in hand). I mess about way too long and only manage to leave mine at 7PM, meaning all in all I get really bad time.

Upon arrival at home, Dad has luckily left for a birthday Chinese for us all. I was really afraid that my lateness would jeopardise it but alas as ever the olds comes through.

Another year, another birthday as mum hits a depressing 59. I return home to more woes with regards to their ill-decided house move and I only turn up with the ills of the world also making things at best a rather dour affair. I really try to be upbeat but these two are harder lift than me. Nightmare.

Tonight is the next round of the Carling Cup and the epic encounter of Man Utd v Arsenal. Or rather Man Utd reserves vs Arsenal youth team. The league cup is now so cheapened beyond belief, its no longer hardly worth holding especially when the Premier league reserve teams still prove better than the rest of the football league teams. I watch about ten minutes of the game as Man Utd score in the first minute and never let up, winning 1-0. Instead I resume conversation on MSN with Sara, who tonight tells me she likes Peaches (the musician). Never ceases to surprise.

I stay over tonight because I am finding it near impossible to study/revise at my flat because there is just no space nor study area to do so. However this means I have to sleep on the sofa, something I am no longer game for finally being an adult.

np: Peaches – Fuck The Pain Away