Monday, 10 January 2011

A Big Number Two

I hated school. From day one I saw it as a necessary evil. It didn’t help that I went to a catholic school whose demi priest teachers were from an Arian sadist superior brotherhood, or AssBros for short. A school full of boys in puberty with male teachers who volunteered to be abstinent equals testosterone city. If it moved, had a pulse and smelt even vaguely female then it wasn’t safe. I can’t help feeling this is why I was so readily accepted into the media. My naivety and desperation levels must have been off the scale!

One boy at school got hooked on drugs. He couldn’t afford proper drugs so he'd crush up senna tablets and snort them. I’m not too sure why he used laxatives, maybe he liked the rush…. Like all addictions he progressed on to the harder stuff and got into injecting cod liver oil and mainlining chicken jalfrezi. Of course, in between drags on his high fiber fags through yellow curry stained fingers he would always say he could quit at any time. More impressively he could pooh at any time as well. For years in the West Country the sonic boom heard most evenings was mistaken for Concorde going super sonic, when it was in fact this boys arse breaking the sound barrier while he was ‘coming down’ from his spicy induced highs. Every December 31st he would make a resolution to himself to give up. Some of you will have heard what you thought were the naval warships in the dockyard sounding their sirens and hailing in a new year. Not so, the sounds you heard were just the drugs temporarily leaving his system.
The last I heard he was better and had a job at CERN accelerating particles up to near light speed. The technique employed is all very hush hush but I have a feeling I know how he’s doing it.

The rich kid at school, the ugly side you tolerate because they always had the latest game or gadget. The reason you hated yourself and whored your friendship because their Walkman was made by Sony, and not a ‘market special’ which used batteries quicker than you could change them, didn’t have a rewind function and left the cassette tape looking like an explosion in a noodle factory. The rich kid, who everyone smiled at but secretly hated and wished would go away. A bit like London.

I grew up in Plymouth, which because of its remoteness to anything resembling a civilisation I suppose is like the loner kid. A bit strange with a wiff of something unpleasant and an eerie knowledge of how nuclear bombs work. Growing up I always wanted to be older, taller and more like a Manchester type kid. A cool kid who started smoking before anyone else. A kid who was always in detention for something really cool that I was too afraid to try, like marmite.
In my clique there was a trapeze girl that hung around. Looking back she would see things behind her and I suppose she was like Wales. You don’t like Wales at first because….. Wales is a girl, but then twenty years later you see a recent picture of Wales on Facebonk and you finally appreciate how stunningly beautiful she is. If you knew now what you knew then you would have moved to Wales along time ago. But you can’t go to Wales because you’re married to Southampton with an Isle of White on the way. Southampton is great and all, and perfect for you, but Wales has got much bigger mountains.

I live in Stockport which is slightly smaller than Plymouth, but at least I’m nearer to the cool kids.

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