Foggy's Blog

    George came over to my desk before I could take another call. Here we go. I braced myself as he pulled up a chair. I saw his left eye was very swollen and there was a dark, purplish bruise just above his cheek bone. He said he'd done it playing football. It was a bit difficult to hear him because he put his hand over his nose, so he sounded a little muffled. Perhaps he thought he was going to sneeze. He said "Bad news, Foggy. Your absence rate is over six percent now, so you'll have to attend a formal meeting. You don't need to worry about it. Well, not much, anyway. I don't think they kick you out just for six percent, but you never know." When I asked him if he was sure about his sums, he replied "Kate worked it out. The meeting will be with her." He looked very weary. "What was wrong with you, anyway? Got the shits?"
     Jess had a go at me when George had gone. She told me I should have said I was off with anxiety or depression, because "they can't touch you if you've got mental 'elf issues." I said I'd remember that for the
formal meeting. No reply from Lucy yet. My stomach was churning again.
     It was my last evening to practice before the SADS Grease auditions tomorrow night. My Summer Nights rehearsal with Myra had not gone well. I'd got a little confused with all the constant switching of lyrics in the duet. When I'd accidently sung "Met a boy cute as can be"  Myra had exploded: "Since when was the leader of the T Birds fucking gay? It's called Grease, not Vaseline!" Her anger got me all nervous and I did too many shoo-bop bops. We eventually decided we'd practise on our own.