My Short Stay in Paradise p.2
(With Apologies to The Provincial Lady)
Link to Part 1
September 19th. — To everyone’s delight, My Perfect Life and Maths test reveal I am bright. Mum preens and puffs and says I take after her. (Mem.: Do not remind Mum that she thinks Pi is something you cut into slices and eat.)
The Junket assigns me to the top form in caste system of eight classes. (Mem.: Northern Irish education one of extreme polarity: bright pupils nurtured; less bright abandoned. In the eighth form pupils spend their day sharpening razor blades and practicing their tarring and feathering.)
September 22nd. — Such is my popularity at Protestant school, I quickly gain nick-name. Henceforth I am known as That Fucking Wee English Girl. (Query: What would nickname be in school of Catholic variety? Answer: Name not necessary; nuns would just kneecap me.)
Become inordinately conscious of curious reaction on part of teachers and pupils whenever I speak due to English accent. (Mem:. Despite abundance of Union Jacks, Protestants not really fond of England or English people. When I mention this to Sister, she laughs and says, ‘They’re Scots really.’ Conclude that N. Ireland society v. complex, confusing and contrary.)
