The windows of the technology block at my old school and the ground between that and the music block kept covering with ice. On a Tuesday morning, Ibid, Soppygit (friends from university) and I found it was fun to spend our breaks, lunch times and hours after lessons scraping the ice and making a complete mess of it. (It was so cold that the ice would return fully between one session and the next.)
On Thursday afternoon, though, Ibid didn't turn up. Soppygit did, but soon remembered she had to go cross-country running and left. Instead, Anna and Darren (acquaintances from university) arrived and cleaned up the ice. I joined them, feeling like a traitor. When the ice was gone, they vanished and I was with a white-haired man of about sixty. I went into the technology block to collect some possessions, but had to get out quickly since it was going to be locked at 6pm. I said to the man, "I presume you're a mature student?" "Yes," he said. "The final year is hardest." (Which didn't make sense, as he was a first year like me.)
I returned to my place of residence, which was a sort of commune. At my place on the dinner table, there was a three-foot-by-four-foot packet of sweets. Three quarters of them were different sorts of Chewits, which I don't generally eat, and the other quarter were weird things, including Mars Bars shaped like battered Easter eggs. These were from my mother, since I was going away somewhere the next day. I wondered how I'd carry them all.
There was an episode of an old kids' TV programme showing. Ibid sat down on a sofa between a shortish plump guy with brown hair that needed cutting if he was trying to keep it short, who put his arm around her, and a teenage girl who was eight months pregnant. I tried to sit on the other side of the pregnant girl, but she moved so I could sit beside Ibid.
The programme was about some people going to southern France and spending a day riding "the Monobuss".