The coach is calm and tranquil. Excluding, perhaps, one corner in which the woman, the myth, the legend, that is Nella Tee, is getting down to some Drum and Bass.
We arrived in Wales with the sun shining on our summer cottage – we are in middle class heaven. Dr Parsons suggests a ‘stroll’, proposed to last no more than one and a half hours. With the weather how it was, there were, unprecedentedly, no groans or moans. For the first time in history; Wimbledon High girls were genuinely up for exercise.
We meandered down to the river and had a paddle. Not only was there no lifeguard in sight but gambling followed. Bets were placed: who would fall first? All bets were on one of the Millies – would it be Hook or would it be McMillan? Bizarrely, no one fell, and we left the river unharmed.
On our return to the cottage we discovered that Ms McIlroy had started on some fajitas – an eloquent chorus of “absolutely banging” ensued. The chicken was cooked to perfection – no salmonella in sight (despite the apprehension) – the mushrooms were divine and culinary excellence was displayed through the melting of cheese on nachos. Drink of choice: Shloer; white grape Shloer.
Dinner was over and a “board game” (Cards Against Humanity) came next. Oddly enough, the teachers retreated to their lairs. We came to the conclusion that we are funnier without prompts and that we require no inappropriate edge to create laughter. In other words, PG, Disney-style humour is best.
This was the part where sleep occurs. One might think that sleep is the most uninteresting part but in this case one would be majorly wrong. I was informed in the morning that I spoke in my sleep of an article (dedication eh?) and Lizzy… replied?!
The light diffused through the curtains and those of us with normal body clocks (about one person), woke. Breakfast was rationed brioches and Eggs McIlroy – don’t ask, they’re heaven.
Work was followed by more work and… more work. SLT is on it this year – just you wait! Prospectuses, board games, aims and interviews. The room became a time capsule. Is it 12? Is it 4? Is it 10? Nobody knew, and nobody cared.
Then the cooking commenced. Disaster Chef. First up was the Head Girl Team, Millie Hook and myself on the main meal. Millie cut chillies, Gaia cut onions, Millie Hook washed up, I watched, baffled, and Ava did practically everything else. ‘Twas a feat.
Cooking was interspersed with more work and many cups of tea. Then came the creation of our introductory SLT video. Shoeless, we ran to the fields to begin filming. There was stepping in thorns. There was stepping in cow pat. There was stepping in pretty much anything that can be stepped in. The video was a triumph nonetheless – I hope you agree.
Dinner was, thankfully, much more like Master Chef than Disaster Chef. The evening was tame, all had gone to plan in the day, but then… a rave! A playlist, composed by yours truly, was turned on and the night was changed forever. We danced in the sunset and then returned inside only to stand on chairs for an hour. Here’s a secret: Dr Neumann is an absolute party animal. Dance prizes go to Millie Hook for her interpretative body popping and to Millie McMillan and pretty much every member of staff who she tried to spin round (including Dr Parsons).
After a nice birthday cake for our lovely Head Girl Ava and some more Shloer, the evening had come to an end. A spring clean of the entire cottage then occurred, surprisingly successfully.
As we sat under the night’s stars and I pretentiously pointed out constellations, we all knew we were to leave our Welsh paradise the following morning.
A five-hour coach journey and we were back home. Back to reality!