SURVIVING THE SUMMER:With the Leaving Cert behind me and the celebrations over, my life has slowed to a new and wonderfully relaxed pace. Stress and pressure are things of the past. Sleep is the order of the day.

This is all well and good up to a point, but I keep finding myself with nothing to do, with more free time than I know what to do with. I am drifting into deep philosophical thought. After I achieve enlightenment, I might spend some time developing a new brand of Zen hurling.

Confident of getting my place in history and politics in Trinity College Dublin, I have made arrangements to move to Pearse Street in September. My act of betrayal has already invoked a response. I've been kicked out of my room. My attic, my cloister, my mile of kingdom, has been handed over to my younger brother. With my move to Pearse Street and college life only nine weeks away, my parents no longer think it fitting that I have the best room in the house. If I don't plan on staying at home next year to continue my duties as resident housekeeper, babysitter and slave, I don't deserve it.

My parents let on that my "betrayal" has really hurt them, but I'm sure that they will be delighted to see the back of me.

This summer will be the first that I spend in Dublin. The first 17 summers of my life were spent in Connemara, so Dublin in the summertime will be a new experience for me. I have mixed feelings, not knowing what to expect in Dublin, wondering what I'm missing in Lettergesh.

Mam and the boys are heading off west, leaving my Dad and I to fend for ourselves, working by day, hurling by night.

Our combined culinary skills amount to pizza, pasta, spuds and, if we feel very adventurous, the frying pan might come out for a few sausages. I'm quite sure that most of our meals will be eaten in fine epicurean centres such as Burger King or the local Chinese.

As we prepared for their departure, we stocked up on foodstuffs as though we were preparing for a nuclear holocaust. Two hundred Weetabix, 60 sausages, 15 pizzas, a four-stone bag of spuds and a fridge-full of beer. I also edited all of the speed-dials on our phone. Food delivery services are far more important to my survival than the Garda, hospitals or relatives.

Before she disappeared, I insisted that my mother take me clothes shopping. I hoped to buy enough to avoid doing any washing all summer. A beautiful dream, but nothing more. I was forced to swallow my pride and learn how to use the washing machine.

When I last checked with my accountant, my finances were approximately minus €293. My weekend refereeing job is enough to support some moderate socialising, but I also have to put some money away to feed and clothe myself next year. And to top that off, I also have to find the money for my sailing trip on the Asgard II. I really need a job.

My early attempts at finding gainful employment proved fruitless. I thought I was really smart - job hunting during Leaving Cert week, trying to slip under the radar and land the plum job that would bankroll my playboy dreams. The fact that everywhere has been fully staffed since the beginning of June is mighty inconvenient. Damn those fifth years and college students. Not only do they avoid exams, they also get the pick of the jobs.

I have e-mailed 42 CVs, delivered another 23 by hand, pestered every relation (close or otherwise), friend, acquaintance and even a few strangers, and still nothing. I would have had a better chance running for the city council (or even Europe)! And to all you publicans, restaurateurs, store managers and other employers around town, please don't just bin my CV - read and recycle!

Summer, by definition, begins with the summer solstice on June 21st, the day of my last exam. But this is not summer as I know it. This is a period of relaxation, reflection and celebration. One chapter of my life is over. A new one will start in September. All I have to do until then is survive!

• Seamus Conboy has just completed his Leaving Certificate at Scoil Caitriona, Mobhi Road, Dublin.