Sunday 8th September day onehundred: 7.25pm – onwards Put off taking this photograph all day. It, or something similar, had been in my head a long while, but it hasn’t come out as I’d hoped. Something about it is unfinished. That’s okay. Whilst the summer is drawing to a close, and this project now with it, perhaps it’s a good thing to leave it on a note upon which it can be returned to. I started the summer a little lost, in the dark despite the June sunshine. Changes had happened too quickly and more were coming up fast. But I knew that this was a summer of importance – one that would matter – and there were three words on that very first day that have remained imprinted on as many days of the last hundred that I could manage. Don’t waste it. I have not. I have visited one of the greatest cities in the world; I attended an enormous concert and played in a few smaller ones myself. I’ve gone on adventures and clambered haybales with my closest friends, and helped paint a flat in York. I’ve watched sunsets in Norfolk, Cambridgeshire and the Lake District, and I’ve travelled somewhere magical. I’ve had more fun than I knew was possible with musical instruments and questioned the fundamentals about who I am in the same day. I have survived the first few days of my last year of school, and still coming to terms with that fact. There is a lot to do; the next few weeks involve frightening decisions about the future, and they will come up very quickly. My sister will leave for California and I will apply to university. The season will continue to change, and I with it. I was a little lost at the beginning of the summer. Now it has come to an end, and part of me is still groping in the dark. There has been no great reconciliation today – indeed, with the end of this project, which has been the most consistent part of my life for the past three months, everything feels all the more insecure. This time, though, I feel lost for different reasons. No longer do I feel as though a part of myself isn’t within me; instead, there are now things within myself that I need to recognise and alter. There is a long journey ahead, and a difficult one; it is no secret that Year 13 is a hard slog. But now I feel that there is a light in my hand – and I’m looking forward to the road ahead.

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Saturday 7th September day ninety-nine: Kerry Varley & Bluestone Luke at Burghley Horse Trials An early start for the journey to the event which, for me, traditionally signals the end of summer: Burghley Horse Trials. It’s odd this year, as typically it takes place over the last weekend of the school holidays, so it seems a week later this year. Mum and I always go for cross country day, treating ourselves to a day of international equestrian competition – and shopping. Oliver Townend & Armada  Anna Warnecke & Twinkle Bee I have to admit, I think we got the balance a little wrong this year – too much time looking around the hundreds of trade stands and too little out on the cross country course. As per usual with these events, I have to make the decision whether to see the action with my eyes, or through my lens. Too often I feel I miss too much by seeing it only through a viewfinder and screen. both: Kerry Varley & Bluestone Luke Our hours shopping were not wasted. As per usual with Burghley, we left with considerably lighter purses and our arms full of goodies – including some very early Christmas presents – but we were also spoiled for choice when it came to equestrian action… Tina Cook & De Novo News Mark Todd & Oloa Regardless of timing mismanagement, and although this year was the busiest I have ever seen an equestrian event, I now realise that Burghley can never disappoint. Andrew Nicholson & Nereo

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Friday 6th September day ninety-eight: 11.40pm – irony Got up and pushed on. Double history spent on coursework preparation – we have to hand our practice piece in by the end of the month, and our final piece before half term in mid-October – and an hour on the Renaissance in Music. Orchestra at lunch, playing Haydn’s fabulous London Symphony which certainly served to improve my mood, and then a meeting regarding an assembly on the Model European Parliament, in which I participated last year.. Double free in the afternoon – I can definitely get used to this every week! – spent in Music, with a violin lesson midway. Bach’s double violin concerto. A text from Jamie; went to meet him. Hopped in his car and we drove into Norwich. (Backstory: he’s very kindly taking me to my singing lesson on Monday evening as I can’t get there otherwise, and to thank him Mum was paying for us to have a meal out before he goes away to university next weekend.) Found our restaurant empty except for a very smiley, enthusiastic waiter with an accent I couldn’t quite place. Talked briefly of the weather and he showed us to our table by the window. Being the only customers, the waiter (I now feel terrible not to have asked his name) chattered to us from behind the counter as he prepared our drinks about Norfolk and how different it was from where he came from – South Africa. “Do you have pets?” he asked us. Jame has a cat. “I have cats, too,” he said, producing his smartphone and proceeding to show us a photograph – of him with a group of lion cubs. A family appeared as we ordered. “I have to serve these people now,” said our waiter, “but when I come back, I will tell you a story that will blow your socks off.” The meal itself was delicious – far better than we were expecting – and J and I had a wonderful evening, reminiscing over the summer and, indeed, the mere nine months we have actually known each other, as well as thinking about the future with him at university and me applying. His living in Exeter will leave a great hole in my evenings that, I suppose, will be taken up by work – but no grades will compensate for the amount of laughter a few minutes skyping Jamie never fail to bring. Our waiter returned, with his story as promised. “I would like you to imagine,” he said, “two people. One girl and one boy. They meet in high school and they start a relationship; she is thirteen, he is sixteen. But three years later they break up – he wants to marry her but she says she is too young. So they separate, and continue with their lives; they both get married, and have children in those relationships, but then they both divorce. And thirty years later, the boy gets a letter, from the girl. Thirty…

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Thursday 5th September day ninety-seven: 6.50am – webs So frustrated by yesterday that I had my photograph taken before 7am this morning; the webs caught my eye from the table at breakfast so I nipped outside before doing my make-up. A quiet journey to school. Spent form doing Eleanor’s French homework, even though I swore I’d never do another piece of French prep in my life, and then a relaxed double music lesson. Went over our results and talked about the composition briefs – this was such hard work that we felt we needed a fifteen minute break to recover before heading back for some harmony work. Drew up the new tea list and received our very fancy subject leader badges. Break in music, and then a free spent catching up with people. Made Beth a new ‘reserved’ sign for ‘her’ seat, since the one Mr D made her on the last day of term disappeared during the redecoration. An unusually academic theological discussion over lunch. Bad news via my email which left me a bit out of place for the rest of the day. A static history lesson preparing us to begin our first of two coursework assignments, and then a particularly enjoyable English lesson with one of my new teachers, comparing passages from A Handmaid’s Tale and Tess of the d’Urbervilles. A lot of tears in the evening, which was perhaps needed. Glad I took my photograph in the morning. p.s. – one hundredth post!

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Wednesday 4th September day ninety-six: 9.50am – timetable My alarm went off at six-fifteen for the first time in months, and I got up with it. A calm morning getting ready, and a drive of mist-haze to college. Dad and I were shadowed by a hot air balloon as we neared the school. Arrived in the atrium and was greeted with smiles and waves from various people. The room was aswarm with new Year 12s looking lost and wary, and I caught up with all sorts of people I’ve barely been in touch with over the summer. Eventually the students in the lower year were ushered away to Chapel whilst we remained behind to register and sit through an assembly, in which we were repeatedly congratulated for being “the best AS year the school has ever seen”. Made our way over to form, chatting with Ruby and Tortie. (“Do I look like a sailor, or a pirate?”) Received timetables (why does this always make me so happy?). I’ve dropped French this year, which has given me an extra nine free periods a fortnight (as well as a weight off my mind). Every Monday begins with a double free; every Friday ends with the same. Tuesday week A comprises of: Free – Music – Free – Lunch – Free – Music. It looks good. How odd to look at a timetable and see nothing but lessons you are genuinely excited and enthused about. A long time in form catching up with people and swapping gossip before we were sent to the sports hall to sit through the whole sixth form assembly before break. In Period Three we were supposed to go to lessons, but instead I had to speak to the new Year 12s regarding the Magazine at their ‘Freshers’ Fayre’, as well as sit through numerous other presentations on clubs, societies and activities available in the Sixth Form. Sat with Karen and laughed at Mr G’s insistence on the school meals being ‘tremendous’. Lunch, spent mostly with Will making preparations for the Year 12 quiz this afternoon, A short chat with Mr G put me in first a worse and then a better mood. Printed a lot of sheets. The afternoon itself flew by in a flurry of handing out, collecting in and marking up quiz sheets, as well as giant, pink sugar-paper aeroplanes, followed by an interesting conversation about self identity which helped to sort things out in my head a little. By pure coincidence it was continued in the car on the way home following a radio programme about sociologist Ervin Goffman. “It’s good to have many selves,” said Dad. “Big selves and little selves.” I’ve heard that somewhere before.

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