A real post

Welcome to my new, renovated blog.

Say hello to Charlie, your new host (to the left; your right).

On Friday, it was the Leaver's Service followed by the Leaver's Dinner; a couple of events to mark the end of our time at King's. The Leaver's Service started at the ungodly hour of 8:30 (well, ungodly when you went to sleep at 1am). Everyone milled around for a while, admiring the architecture of the Cathedral, until we were called to our seats and the service began.

It consisted of mainly hymns, readings from the Bible, you know...usual church stuff. There was a goodbye speech from the Head of Sixth Form, Mr David Davies, as it was his last year as well. In true Welsh style, he murmered on for a while about factories and train stations (I think). In a surprise twist at the end of his speech, however, he whipped out an Uzi and leapt over the lectern towards our Headteacher, Mr Longman, screaming about blood payment. Fortunately he was subdued by the choir boys and the service continued.

We were called up to get our Multi-Faith prayer books - a selection of PC musings and prayers from various religions around the world. Unfortunately, Atheism was under-represented. Something like this should have been put in, I feel:

Oh Blind Forces of Nature,
You have done nothing for me;
For I have earned my own survival due to the success of my genes;
Please continue functioning as you have in the past;
Else scientists will be buggered;
But you're not sentient, so why I am talking to you!
I must be crazy.

It could then be accompanied by a picture of a train (to represent those who believe in the Trainity).

After the service, we went out for lunch - myself buying lunch for everyone (well, four people), and we went down to Sports Day to cheer on James, our Year 7 friend.

Sports Day brings up childhood fears and scars within me; I feel it was originally used as a form of punishment for the rougher boys, but when they started competing for real, they thought it should become permanent.

This is, of course, the same 'they' who put that annoying plastic ring around the caps of milk bottles, who are responsible for all the shortcomings of education and healthcare, and who should have done something when it all went wrong in Northern Ireland. I blame the women, don't know about you.

Yet I digress. We went to Sports Day, and cheered on James (Eye of the Tiger!) in his 100m dash. He came 6th, and staggered off somewhere to have a drink. Eager to escape from that Field of Hell - seriously, it must have been about 32 degrees out there - we went to Alex's garden.

Alex has a lovely flat in a very old building behind the Cathedral, and the building's flats share a very large and lovely garden. Alex is the only teenager in the building, so it has been a venue for many youthful debaucheries. They were wild. I mean steel-eroding wild.

On Friday, however, it was more peaceful; we lay around, talked, drank water, and I made an idiot of myself a few times. I can't really remember how, I just remember people laughing at me. Something about gum falling out of my mouth. I'm abused, seriously.

After Alex's, went back to Julia's for a bit, and then comes a curious blank in my memory. Something about snails. My memory scares me. My memory is the masked thug in the alley of my mind.

On to the leaver's dinner. I arrived at 6:30, hung around and talked to Chris and Spanner for a while, before Steg came in and told everyone was waiting outside for me! People must just assume I'd be late.

Everyone looked lovely, but Julia looked especially beautiful. I bought her a corsage - it's like a flower thing you're meant to buy your girl at a dance. I had only found this out the day before (after TWO balls and prom) so panicked and got her one. It was nice though.

It wasn't any ordinary corsage, either. It was the Corsage of Fate, for which I fought with the Florist of Interflora, over the Gate of Queens. I kicked some serious ass for those flowers.

We ate a reasonable dinner, argued about the death penalty, laughed at various things - you know, grownup dinner party stuff. Mr Longman made a short speech, awarding various prizes (Daniel was nominated for, but unjustly did not get, Scruff of the Year). The yearbooks were also distributed! They're quite good - pictures of everyone in the year, accompanied by a short piece written by themselves; I think Matt Benaton's was the funniest. After a frantic search for pens, people went around getting everyone they liked to sign them. Obviously, my hand was aching pretty soon.

I'm kidding.

It just dropped off from the strain.

Seriously.

Anyways; danced some more, walked to Alex's at 1am to read our yearbooks in bemused silence, then went home with Julia. Absolutely exhausted though (went to sleep at 3am, got up for work at 7am). Some other stuff happened this weeked...homeless centre, library, world cup disappointment, warhammer quest death, black and white, doctor who, graveyard, cooking...but that's another story.

I leave you with this story, showing that Terry Pratchett is scarily close to real life (re: the troll's concept of time).

http://www.physorg.com/news69338070.html