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Volume 1 (1999/2000)
Issue
1 (March 1999)
Issue
2 (Nov. 1999)
Issue 3 (Dec. 1999)
Issue 4 (Feb. 2000)
Issue 5 (March 2000)
Issue 6 (April 2000)
Issue
7 (May 2000)
Volume 2 (2000/2001)
Issue 1 (Sept. 2000)
Issue 2 (Oct. 2000)
Issue 3 (Jan. 2001)
Issue 4 (March 2001)
Issue 5 (April 2001)
Issue 6 (May 2001)
Volume 3 (2001)
Issue 1 (Sept. 2001)
Issue 2 (Nov. 2001)
Categories
Sport: 1
2 3
Lifestyles: 1 2
3
Commentary: 1 2
3
Review: 1 2
3
Writing: 1 2
3
Event: 1 2
3
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Niamh O' Leary
Colaiste Choilm, Ballincollig
I hate my life! Why do things like this always happen to me?! It's like
I'm cursed or something! Example: I forget my homework. I tell Mr. Murphy.
He shouts. I argue. He sends me to the Principal. I rest my case!
Today was a big problem. I had a Maths test. I meant to revise last night.
But I just couldn't miss 'Friends'. Rachel and Ross had just broken up
and it was crucial that I catch the next episode. I didn't think Miss
Haverty was going to be too thrilled about my lack of study. In fact I
could already see her baring her fangs, so I decided to be the Good guy
- I would study. After breakfast. Oh, but, I had promised to wash Dad's
car. He'll pay me a fiver. I need that money. Otherwise I wouldn't be
able to go see 'Titanic', the best film ever. And every one in the entire
world is going to see it tomorrow night. I, too, will have to grace the
cinema with an appearance. Studying was just not an option. Besides, I
knew those Maths. They're easy peasy Japeneasy. No problemo.
I failed, failed desperately. I got an F- and a note saying "Tell
your parents to come in and see me after school tomorrow". My parents
are going to kill me! I had to do something to get into my parents good
books, pronto! It was time to take some serious action. When I came home
from school that day Mum was at the cooker grilling burgers. "Hello
Mum," I said, licking up for all that I was worth. "I love you
soooooooooooo much!" Smarm was rolling off my tongue at this stage.
She turned, astounded by this show of affection. "Honey, are you
feeling O.K? Are you sick or something?" Concern and worry were showing
in her tone and face. I felt like laughing. But this was no laughing matter.
I suppressed it. "You know Mum, you're wonderful really. Cooking
dinners day in, day out. Cleaning, washing, ironing, paying bills. You
really are something special."
Mum looked bowled over. Struck dumb. I noticed a pile of creased clothes
in the corner waiting to be ironed. Inspiration flashed through my mind.
"Mum, I want to do that ironing for you. Just a small token of my
appreciation - of all you've done for me." She found her tongue at
last. "But you can't iron!" "There's nothing to it,"
I said breezily. "I do the ironing at Aisling's house all the time,"
I said, lying through my teeth. "Well, O.K.", she finally conceded
doubtfully. "But just the small handkerchiefs and", she paused,
"maybe a few tea towels. And don't, under any circumstances, touch
that new Armani shirt of your fathers. It's brand new, and it cost a fortune."
"Yes Mum."
Well, it was a start. I doubt if ironing pocket hankies and tea towels
would cancel out an F minus, but I resolved to go on to bigger things
to show how mature and responsible I really was. I started to iron. Minuscule
hankies were fun at first, but soon boredom set in. I decided to try Mum's
satin pyjamas. What a cinch! I was getting good at this! Easy peasy, Japenesy...........What
I needed was a real challenge. Then I spotted my Dad's shirt. Perfect!
I started to iron. The shirt was such a piercing blue it almost hurt my
eyes. And the material was so soft, almost like silk to the touch.
Then the phone rang. So I ran to the telephone. Nobody there. I was half
way back to the kitchen when it rang again. I picked it up. No one there.
This happened again a third time and then a fourth, and I never quite
made it to the kitchen. Then, for no apparent reason, it stopped. "Thank
God", I muttered under my breath. I walked back towards the kitchen.
Then I broke into a run. I had left the hot iron sitting on my Dads brand
new Armani shirt. I lifted it gingerly, almost afraid of what I would
see. A sight worse than death greeted me. A big, black, yawning hole in
my Dad's new shirt.........Oh no! Then I heard the footsteps of doom.
"Has any one seen my new shirt?", called Dad. Uh-Oh............
I hate my life. Why do things like this always happen to me?!
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