The Farm

When I was in Year 4, there was a prospect of a really bloody good school trip - a 2 and a half stay at a farm not too far from home. It was the most excitement-filled trip in my life up to then, and from what the officials said, it looked brilliant, and I could not wait. I'd never spend so much as a night away from home and it was really exciting!!!!!!!

As it got nearer and nearer the trip I got more and more excited, and all of the paperwork boredom and things like that got completed, and soon it was just a point of making sure you were there on time.

Some point very near to the trip, I started feeling crappy. But it wouldn't last long, I told myself. I would be okay by Monday, I would be fine by Monday, it would be someone else who felt rubbish by Monday. I was not going to miss the best trip of my life so far, nope, never. Of all of the trips in the world, this wasn't going to be the one to miss. It was going to be a brilliant trip, and I. Would. Be. There.

When, on Sunday evening, it became obvious that I wouldn't be going, I was really upset about it. Even my two new toy cats couldn't cheer me up. Stupid bloody illnesses.

If those are toy cats.

Monday came. I'd be going on that trip if this damned illness hadn't got me, I thought gloomily.

That day was spent feeling gloomy and rubbish and really just plain dreadful, until a little glimmer of hope shined. You see, the way we were going to go was our class plus half of another class from Monday to Wednesday lunch, when the rest of the year would go until Friday. And in my naive 8 year old mind, I genuinely believed that this was actually a viable option. 

Only it wasn't to be. Even if it was feasible, I still felt all eeuuurrrghhh. It was horrible to feel so yucky and it was horrible to miss out on what could have been the best trip ever.

The yuckiness stayed around for 3 weeks after it started, one of those weeks I was in school and had turned to tears because I'd been confronted about some work that wasn't very good (it may have been art and I never was good at art anyway). Not the happiest time of my life.

After everything was okay again I ignored my brother, Crotchet, who moaned about never having the chance of the farm visit (when he was in Year 5 the pupils who took the farm visit were changed from Year 6 students to Year 4 students) and pinned all of my hopes on having perfect health for the Year 6 France trip. Thank God that that did happen.