I hate everyone’s shallow chitterings. I spent most of my time in a virtually deserted common room, talking to Deborah and Jeremy. There are only thirty four of us now that the seventh years have gone. Exams begin a week on Monday. Great lethargy once more. Deborah and Evelyn are going to see the tennis at Queen’s Club tomorrow, and they are borrowing school’s Praktica, so I went home and got them Andrew’s case to borrow over the weekend. I played Mark Pittock at tennis and lost 1-6, 1-6.
In Art we continued with our oil pictures and I got stuck into mine and so was loathe to stop at six; me and Lee took our masterpieces home, to continue tomorrow. We could only raise three people for the six-a-side so we didn’t bother.
I watched All Quiet On The Western Front. It's brilliant, but quite harrowing in parts.