Young Jamie: Portrait of a Serial Douchebag (Part 1)

I found a holdall in my mum’s attic that’s full of old jotters from primary school. Over the next few weeks I’m going to share a few choice entries from primaries 2 – 5.

Today’s sample comes from my Primary 2 News jotter, in which I expertly summarised my actions, thoughts and deeds from the weekend.

Ah, yes. I might've been greedy (seventeen colouring books? How very middle-class of me) and shit at writing, but at least I had counting nailed. There are indeed seventeen splodges of colour in the beautifully rendered picture above the diary entry. I was deadly at counting, and this skill has paid dividends in the adult world. I'm awesome at counting up how much money I don't have. Sorry for saying there were seventeen splodges of colour. There are clearly 'seventeene.' It wasn't a spelling mistake, as my teacher knew fine well. Clearly I was so advanced I'd decided to slip in a wee bit of Shakespeare.

Ah, yes. I might’ve been greedy (seventeen colouring books? How very middle-class of me) and shit at writing, but at least I had counting nailed. There are indeed seventeen splodges of colour in the beautifully rendered picture above the diary entry. I was excellent at counting, and this is a skill that has proven indispensable in the adult world. Now I can itemise all of my bitter regrets, and count up all of the money I don’t have. Sorry for saying there were seventeen splodges of colour. There are clearly ‘seventeene.’ It wasn’t a spelling mistake, as my teacher knew fine well. Clearly I was so advanced I decided to slip in a wee bit of Shakespeare. I was always doing that at school. Even when I needed a piss I’d put my hand up and say, ‘O but that thou wouldst graciously grant me leave from this place so that I may take a wee-wee, perchance a jobby, fair maiden.’ Either that or I’d just blow my face purple and shite in my Ghostbusters’ Y-fronts right there at my desk. Also note how I clarified my intended use of the colouring book to avoid confusion: ‘to colour in.’ Why am I not Prime Minister by now?