Things are beginning to change. Sometimes the sun can be glimpsed in the sky. Election posters are slowly being peeled off telegraph poles. And the Leaving is gradually creeping towards its end - for me. Yesterday's indignation is beginning to evaporate somewhat. It's being replaced by acceptance. The French paper today was lovely, although after yesterday, I probably would have thought anything was lovely.
The comprehensions about scientists swimming with whales and undercover policemen courting tramps are unusual enough but the questions are straightforward and two crucial pieces of vocabulary are provided. The essays are very personal and offer great scope to be creative. They're probably difficult enough for people who were expecting abstract topics, such as drugs and sport or racism.
I think, however, that it's probably a good direction for the paper to take in that proficiency in the language, as opposed to learning of stock phrases, was tested. The inclusion of a summary question offered variety for anybody thrown by the essays.
The aural was an improvement on last year in that people could understand it. Though there were a few tricky twists, at least the people on the tape were speaking French instead of the entirely new language which last year's tape seemed to have created.
Going to the accountancy exam to see how everybody did gives me a sense of perspective. It's nice to be at an exam post mortem and not feel that your future is slowly dying too. Reams of figures are reeled off, exam scripts are brandished and I can feel detached. The general consensus is that the exam was very fair, with a wide range of options and no major surprises. The paper is thrust in front of me and I am told that the marginal costings question was very handy although everything looks equally incomprehensible to me. However, as nobody is banging their heads against a wall, I think the paper was okay. If not quite ebullient, people are at least starting to smile. Maybe it's because freedom is just an exam or two away.
Of course, some politicians seem intent on gracing our telegraph poles for ever more. So, too, the spectre of Monday's geography paper lingers. With hindsight, I think I probably could have managed better in the comfort of my room, but in the exam hall, every nasty twist a paper throws at you is magnified a hundred-fold. And to have so many twists in one paper was horribly unfair.
At the moment I'm trying to burn all my bridges with the Leaving Cert, including my one across the Shannon. It's quite cathartic to carelessly rip up all those notes I meticulously made out. Hard Times, however, seem to have inherited Rasputin's spirit. It doesn't seem to contain enough substance to ignite. I try throwing it into the bin but it boomerangs into my sister's hands. Her initial words - "Oh, this looks interesting" - seal her fate. Hard times.