That sicky feeling. Again.

Remember being 16? Remember taking your GCSEs (or O Levels for those of you who are a little riper than others)? Remember that feeling you got the night before your results?

Sicky. Panicky. Fidgety.

There are always the Hermione Grangers... they work their butts off, any moment not revising is a moment wasted. They spend the night before results day fretting that they won't get the best grades (anything below an A* is a fail). And, of course, they get the best grades.

Then there are the Harry Potters... they have moments of guilt which result in short bursts of focus and revision. Emphasis on short - they're easily distracted. They spend the night before results day knowing that they won't get the best grades but hoping they've done enough to make people proud. Then they walk out with A*s anyway because they always get the luck - and annoy...

...the Neville Longbottoms... who spend their whole time putting in 110% (they wouldn't know what tautology was, Hermione would) to their work. They spend the night before results day having nightmares about what their family will think if they don't do exceptionally well. And then, of course, they don't. They get average results because they didn't get to be Harry.

And then there are the Ron Weasleys... high hopes without the motivation to go with it. Champagne dreams with a lemonade work ethic. Revision - what's that? They spend the night before results day forgetting that the next day is results day.

And then you have the saddos, like me. Apparently, going through this trauma once wasn't enough. Oh no. I have chosen a career that means I'll go through it year after year after year. Hoping that my cohort has made its target. Hoping that my individual classes have exceeded their predictions. Hoping that my mentees have heeded our sessions and got the grades they need. It feels like I'm trapped in a ground hog day with ten caffeine patches. Ten on each arm.

As a teacher, I would like to think that I'm Hermione but I couldn't say until tomorrow's results are in. Perhaps, I'll turn out to be a Neville Longbottom. Oh Hufflepuff, here come the palpitations again.

And I'm not telling you if I was Hermione, Harry, Neville or Ron as a student.