Why I am in league with Michael Davitt

I'm beginning to appreciate the chasm between my exam plan and my actual exam. My exam plan for maths paper one pivots around the idea that calculus is the root of all evil and must be avoided at all costs. And then, as my eyes scan the calculus questions, I am struck by an unusual feeling. I seem to know how to do them. This is all very disconcerting. In fact, the whole paper leaves me reeling, not because of its difficulty but because it's so easy.

It's definitely the easiest maths paper yet. When I see the first algebra question, I begin to worry that I've got the ordinary-level paper. I think that even the mouse nibbling at my boots yesterday could have made a decent stab at it. Of course, this could all be overconfidence. And paper two could compensate tomorrow. But everybody agrees that it was very straightforward, with the hardest parts accompanied by hints.

The complex number question is probably the most difficult, though even this pales in comparison with fiendishly hard questions from other years. We agree that paper two might be a nasty shock tomorrow. My calculator sits, busy storing energy, just in case.

Most in the class saunter home, very happy.

Unfortunately, the history paper remains for the rest of us. Again, my exam plan is discarded. It does not involved doing an essay on Michael Davitt. Half way through the essay, I realise why. My knowledge of Davitt is based around two facts: he was not Parnell and he had a bush mustache. Tragically, I think I know more about Michael Davitt, the Irish poet, than Micahel Davitt, socialist crusader. I write an essay on the land issue and keep adding Davitt's name every few lines, so it should be okay.

Apart from this irritating lack of options in the first section, the rest of the paper is fine, with the expected topics appearing. The main problem with history is the time - the other exams have been quite easy-going and I've had time to observe the little details going on in the background. During history, a troop of mice could cartwheel across the hall and I wouldn't notice. Everybody is scribbling maniacally, as if copious pen-waggling was actually an Olympic sport. I'm very glad of my granny's pen and so far I haven't been disqualified. After a couple of hours, however, my writing is beginning to merge into an indistinguishable scrawl. My pen has carved an uncomfortable depression into my middle finger. It's almost an extension of my hand.

It's at this stage that I start to get irritated with both Michael Davitt and my special topic. People often query whether or not the Leaving amounts to a regurgitating of material. The special topic, where you research a topic, write an essay on it, and then reproduce it on the day of the exam, is pure regurgitation. The logic of it all eludes me. In an exam, where you have to write so much anyway, reproducing something you've already done is both irritating and tiresome. Surely, an interview, discussing the special topic, would make more sense. And it might also stop people copying somebody else's.

At the moment, however, all thoughts of history, Michael Davitt and special topics are slowly fading. After the exam, there's a tendency to forget, to move onto the next one. In time, I may even forgive Michael Davitt.