Take Irish for example. I have spent weeks trying to learn 20 Sraith Pictuirs when I'll only be asked ONE. What is the point of that torture? It certainly isn't to extend my love for the language or anything- to be honest, each time I read about Siobháns food poisoning and how 'breoite ar scoil' she was, I just get more and more annoyed. We all know that the only thing wrong with that girl was a self-inflicted hangover. And don't get me started on the poetry. A lion in a zoo, a couple who hate each other, one about seaweed or something and the one about a poor lad who lived about 100 years ago. Oh, and lets not forget 'Mo Ghrása' in which a wife 'lovingly' describes how butt ugly her husband is. How romantic.
How in God's name are we supposed to have a 'naturally flowing' conversation when all we can worry about is being asked to read 'An Spailpín Fánach' or picking that one sraith pictiúr that we didn't even know existed?
I realise that all together, the orals will only last for about half an hour, but the amount of pressure and preparation that goes with that is just ridiculous. If we could just go in and have an aul chat over a cup of tea and biscuits, about things that we would naturally talk about with our own friends, things would be so much less stressful.
So there's my rant about the orals over and done with. I had to take out my anger in some way, and I suppose writing it down is better than throwing my schoolbag off the side a cliff (which would involve the effort of climbing up a steep slope and a great amount of energy that I don't have)
Oh, I must mention that once this torture is over in 2 weeks time, I'm planning a big fire in my back garden to burn all the sraith pictiurs, if anybody's interested in joining me. Best of luck everyone!