The bell went to signal dinner time. We congregate on the asphalt covered netball
court at the back of the PE block and play football on Thursday lunchtimes. Normally we play ‘rush and scramble’ or
‘first one back is the keeper’. Every
week we play for 5 minutes until Tazzy McNoskill hoofs the ball over the fence
into the pub car park next to the school.
He was off school today so we managed to play for most of lunch time
break. Hakka did this save but landed badly (his foot moved so we only gave him
a 5.6). I scored a goal from 80 yards
(in relative distance on a full size pitch) in the top corner (of where the
posts would have been if we’d had some).
I had time to eat my sandwiches[1] as
I walked to registration.
 |
| We always play in black and white, makes it feel more betterer |
Mr Chipolata had a go at me for not being on the school
photo. I apologised and said I’d bring a small photograph of myself in that they
could stick on but he said that wasn’t acceptable. I suspect it’s not the fact I’m not on the
photo, it’s just I’m one less person they can fleece by charging £80 for 4
individual prints and £100 for a group shot.
It’s more if you want colour.
We (me and Fazzy) went over to the sixth form block where
the V.G. classroom is. V.G. stands for
Vocational Guidance, of which we get very little. We do however get free condoms, practice in
how to stare at a boring teacher who tells you nothing and then shows you a
video on an unfeasibly small television about car thieves and how to ask the
person next to you their name and an interesting fact about themselves. Mr Brum, the careers teacher, gave us all a
pile of prospectuses for different universities and colleges. Looking around the room, it didn’t seem
appropriate as half of the class are quasi-illiterate, about a quarter are on
drugs or sell them and the others have the educational standard of a 9 year
old. Actually, 9 year olds usually know their own names. We had to interview each other about where we
think we’ll be in the future. I said I’d
be a banker. Mr Brum said I already was one. He’s a bit deaf. Razzy said he’d be in prison and I couldn’t
disagree with him, he managed to steal my pen, trousers and identity during the
interview without me noticing. I asked Mr
Brum why he became a careers teacher and he said it was because he couldn’t
think of anything else he'd be good at. He’s a good
careers councilor to have isn’t he? The tiny eyed moron.
[1] This
isn’t a euphemism.
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