It's not all stony grey study for Leaving Cert student Seamus Conboy, as his diary shows. No, there's the serious matter of graduation night, the physical outlet of hurling - and just who used all the ketchup, anyway?

Monday

All eyes are bleary eyes in the Conboy household. A Leaving Cert student, a Junior Cert student and an Irish teacher all under one roof in the nervy month of May. Add to that a Valuation Officer who's about to be decentralised to Youghal and you've got a recipe for frayed nerves and mental exhaustion. The sign on the livingroom door says: Narcolepsy Association Meeting.

I came home from a Monday of constant grind - no escaping for a doss in religion or counselling today. I got in at four, pucked a sliothar for an hour and then got stuck into Irish history. It's my favourite subject but I find it hard on the brain. I escape to maths for a bit of light relief! Despite my liking for maths I'm hoping for a degree in history and politics at Trinity College Dublin.

A quick dinner with the family and it's back to the books until one of my favourite programmes, Scrubs, comes on at 9.30 p.m. Mam and Dad might have had something to say about me clocking out of the study so early but they're asleep in front of the telly again.

Tuesday

School is abuzz with talk of the graduation night - are these people in denial? Haven't they heard of the Leaving Cert? The girls are doing all the organising and are calling for votes on the venue. I had to laugh at the list - all the clubs and pubs are in Irish because ours is a gaelscoil. An Bosca Dearg? Tóg go dtí an Chúirt Mé? The Red Box and Sosume never sounded so glamorous.

Headed off to play a hurling match against the staff of the local mental hospital. We were badly beaten, and not just on the scoreboard. I dragged my bruised and aching bones upstairs to tackle physics. This is one of the trickier subjects for a gaelscoil student. The Irish for force displacement and translational kinetic energy doesn't trip off the tongue. A short while later I slip out of the study and turn on The Sopranos. My body and mind are shattered after hurling and physics but I'm glad of the symmetry. Without hurling, my brain would be knackered and my body would be running around like a headless chicken. Instead I have achieved "comhleá". It's the Irish for "fusion", but it translates directly as "combined melting". Both my body and mind are melting. Sometimes you've got to look to the Irish for the mot juste.

Wednesday

Today I broke my personal record for most consecutive hours spent studying without a break. I started at 2 p.m. and finished at 11 p.m. I'm sure there's some European legislation protecting me from that sort of thing.

There's nothing good on the box tonight so I read a bit of Michael Moore's Stupid White Men. I haven't got much time for politics these days. The European and local elections will be held bang in the middle of the Leaving but I won't miss my first opportunity to vote. Why did the Government choose the week of the Leaving Cert for the election? I'm sure there's a conspiracy in there somewhere - or maybe I've been reading too much Michael Moore. I haven't made up my mind who to vote for yet.

Anyone lobbying for the removal of Patrick Kavanagh from the English syllabus? I'd vote for that.

Richard Bruton called to the door during dinner, canvassing for the upcoming elections. His son is doing the Leaving Cert as well, apparently. Guess he won't be too busy to vote. I put the Kavanagh question to Mr Bruton and he said it was a hot topic on the doorsteps of Collins Avenue. Really, I asked? No, he replied.

I think I will try and get out and vote on the 11th. I'll try and cram a few pamphlets on my way to the polling station.

Thursday

Spent the day dreading study. I know that Kavanagh is waiting for me, lurking in his stony grey hell. Everyone is saying he'll come up this year because it's his anniversary. Exam forecasts are filtering back to us from the countless students going to the Institute of Education. I was really shocked when I realised the amount of students who do the Leeson Street shuffle every Saturday. Got home and tackled the Monaghan Man for as long as I could bear and then joined the family for dinner.

Mam was shocked to discover that my brother and I had gone through a kilo of tomato ketchup in one week. It doesn't matter what she cooks (and she's a good cook) we still drown it in sauce. We are obviously developing a stress-related dependency. Mam's also concerned about the amount of time we spend watching The Simpsons. She thinks it might affect our exam performance. Me fail English? That's unpossible.

I didn't sleep too well last night. I dreamt of Kavanagh sitting on a canal bank demonstrating Archimedes' principle with a giant bottle of ketchup. Beneath my cool exterior, I'm as terrified as the next man.

Friday

After a harrowing day of answering sample exam questions in every class, I escaped to a welcome hurling training session.

Tomorrow will be a heavy study day so I didn't push it today. My whole family is into sports and luckily my parents never called a halt to my training. Some of my classmates have given up their hobbies for the exams and they're losing the plot. Early to bed, for tomorrow we swot.

Saturday

I got up early and hit the books. My desk is disappearing under a pile of clothes and scraps of paper. My brain is disappearing under a fog of maths equations and geography terms. My brother is swanning around the house like it's just another May.

Mum's rationing the ketchup. Dad's muttering darkly about people missing training because of bloody exams. Strangely, I feel quite calm. I'm up to speed on history and maths and I'm going out tonight.

I earned a bit of money working as a referee last week and I aim to fritter it away on activities deleterious to academia. Know what I mean? Spent the night in a bar in town with a crowd of fifth years.

All the sixth-year girls were out chasing the Dublin Minor team. It was good to have a night out without people talking about the L.C. Several beers later I headed home to my cloister.

These French notes are all Greek to me now. I think it's time for bed.

Sunday

This morning I ran a virus check on my head. The damage was minimal so I took on a past French paper. That went well, so I had a look at Deirdre Madden's book One by One in the Darkness. Not what I'd describe as my favourite part of the course!

After lunch I packed my gear and headed off for an afternoon match. We played, and beat, Craobh Chiarán, and I scored a goal. Pumped up by our success, I nailed a couple of physics questions before crashing in front of the telly with the rest of my overworked family. The Narcolepsy Association meeting is now in session.

Seamus Conboy will be writing a daily diary in The Irish Times as part of the Leaving Cert coverage