What an boring day, bar a bath-time mishap.
My exams are over until my first batch of AS exams, which is a nice feeling. As predicted, statistics was an insult to my intelligence. The only thing that challenged me was the notion that 'Mular' was the name of somebody, and not a yoghurt. Apparently this is freedom, but I feel trapped inside my own house by this crippling heat. Thank goodness that it should be over tomorrow and return to a modest 20 odd degrees. My day has mostly been filled with nothing. I have continued to imprint my arse upon the right side cushion of my sofa. I may contact Guinness World Records; I may have made some development on whatever the pre-existing record is for doing nothing in one spot.
This brings me onto my next point. The one point of conversation that I can draw from this astoundingly tedious afternoon. I decided that a cold bath may be in order to counter the sweltering heat. Whilst this turned into a hotter-than usual bath instead of a cold point, the temperature is irrelevant. I sat there and was convinced that I heard an odd hissing noise. Perhaps the pipes had a leak or something? I looked over the edge and saw a rather large, fuzzy, cumbersome looking bumble-bee. Now, anybody with a shred of integrity or courage would raise their eyebrows briefly, and continue to stew in their own filth for a bit longer. Not I. Not your great helmsman, with his irrational fear of black, yellow, buzzing creatures. I leapt from my stagnant chamber and proceeded to scream like a 7 year old girl for a second or two, perhaps in jest, perhaps not. The scream was more high-pitched than I would ever scream in genuine fear, but then, I have never screamed in genuine fear ( to my knowledge). I take a more Viking-esque approach and run around with a blunt weapon shouting loudly. Anyway, enough self-plaudits. I proceeded to stand there, eying my foe up. It was moving towards the door. YES. I could close the door on it and devise some method of escaping the battlefield. I nudged in with the door, inducing a slight shudder (in myself) and persuaded it out of the door. Success! Or not. It had hung on and was scaling the door-frame, towards me (despite this being very unlikely, considering that it could fly at me with those wings it has on its back if really did want to get me). It seemed to change its mind and returned to its post on the bath-mat. I took a deep breath and hopped over the bee, slamming the door behind me and grabbing a towel. On the whole, a success. I'll overlook the fact that I left the radio on and my glasses in the bathroom behind me.
I went downstairs and asked my Dad to retrieve them and dispose of the bee. Fortunately, the bee must have died of overheating, and was probably buzzing an SOS to me, in forlorn hope that I would save it. How perfect. I'm not most certainly not a sociopath, but this is the one tendency of a sociopath that I don't regret taking on.