Hello! I should really be using this time to write for the topical comedy show coming up that I mentioned, but I can’t think what to jot down, now, so I’m going to blog instead. I’ll write a sketch when a news story comes up that I feel confident about discussing. Rather annoyingly, I don’t really follow the news that much and certainly not politics, making writing about the subjects particularly hard for me. And even if I did, thousands of skits get sent to the event’s manager every week, so I have little chance of getting any promotion anyway. But then again many of those won’t be very good, and a small percentage will be mental institution worthy. Believe me, I know. But as the saying goes ‘if I lose, at least I tried’. Or if you’re a Slipknot fan you may know of the lyric ‘AND IF I LOSE, AT LEAST I TRIED!!!!!! >:( >:( >:(.’ No, my version’s better. Less threatening. Though the song (Pulse of the Maggots) does have a pretty cool shred metal solo.
I should be going rock climbing with a friend on Monday (right now it’s Saturday), so my plan is to write about that later in this entry. By that time, it should be reasonably long, meaning a simple paragraph or two about the day out should suffice in making a decent blogeroo. (Sorry if I sounded like a toddler there, I didn’t want to keep saying ‘blog’. If you read my book, you will know I have had some problems with similar issues). If for whatever reason the trip is cancelled… well, I guess things will be f**ked. Only joking, I’m sure I’ll find a solution when it comes to journalling. What I love about writing, is that it can be whatever you want it to be. You can’t say the same about maths, can you? E.g., ‘what is 34 x 65?’ ’A stupid number’. Say that to your teacher and prepare to get complained about to your parents.
Here’s something else I can talk about for the time being: Christmas! Boy is this going to be a crazy Christmas, or what? Why? I’ve bought myself some Surstromming (fermented fish) as a present. Apparently it smells. In fact, it smells so bad it makes people puke in seconds. (I’ve seen it on Youtube). And they can’t stop puking. How can something be so terrible? Well, on the 25th, I will find out. But where will I find out? Not in my house, as it would stink the place out until some specialist industrial cleaners are hired. If I opened the ‘food’ in my garden, the street would be stinked out, ruining Christmas for everyone and possible causing a festive riot, so there is one solution that is left. I open the thing in the local countryside area, Chobhom Common. Nice and safe, right? Not necessarily. On rare occasions, some mildly thuggish people like to go to place and cause trouble by shouting. What if they visit on Jesus’s birthday? They feel rejected at home, are having an awful time and are VERY angry, then they see me, smelling like Satan has taken a dump and on purpose. How do you think that will go down? But it’s the only option I have. For now… that’s all from me. Toodle pip!
It’s now two days after writing the previous three paragraphs and thank God there has been a news story I have been inspired to write about. It’s based on the one about parents leaving their parenting up to school teachers. After copying and pasting it here, I will then blog about the climbing. Here goes!
INT. HEAD TEACHER’S OFFICE
Here is a room with a table and four chairs surrounding it. In the nicest one sits the HEAD TEACHER, a well dressed man in his 50s with a tidy haircut.
The door opens and MR POTTER is revealed. He is scruffier than most teachers and is in his 20s. He sits to face the HEAD.
MR. POTTER
(with a slight lack of respect)
You sent for me, Mr. Head teacher?
HEAD TEACHER
(calmly)
Sit down, Mr. Potter, I've been thinking deeply for a while and have gotten nowhere... I need your help.
MR. POTTER
What's wrong?
The HEAD loses his cool and starts to fidget.
HEAD TEACHER
I'm at my wits end! As you know, many of the parents of this school's pupils don't even bother toilet training their children! How can we possibly teach them the curriculum, if we're spending all of our time instructing people how to sit down and poo?
MR. POTTER looks thoughtful and steeples his hands.
MR. POTTER
Maybe we could combine toilet training with clock reading. E.g., what was the time you did a poo, and when did you finish?
The HEAD fidgets even more.
HEAD TEACHER
Are you serious? Even many secondary schoolers can only read digital clocks. What hope have infant school pupils got?
MR. POTTER on the other hand looks more confident.
MR. POTTER
Stop being so pessimistic. Think of our reputation. Our pupils could end up being some of the best time keepers of their age in the country, if we put our minds to it. You know what that means? They'll be good planners.
THE HT widens his eyes in disbelief.
HEAD TEACHER
Are you suggesting by toilet training children whilst making them look at clocks, you will turn them into the next Alan Sugars?
MR. POTTER
Well not immediately, of course not. But give it a few years, and they'll be sacking people constantly and bossing people around like pros.
HEAD TEACHER
I have to be honest, I kind of want to sack you. You're not so much idealistic, more schizo. Christmas is coming up and I don't want you literally believing you're Santa just because you'll be dressed up.
MR. POTTER looks down at the floor in disappointment and wipes a tear.
MR. POTTER
Actors are supposed to get into their roles, though.
HEAD TEACHER
Why don't you get into the role of a teacher and grow up?
POTTER regains eye contact. It's not friendly.
MR. POTTER
Why don't you get into your role of head teacher and teach people's heads? Who do you think you are sending out school letters to lazy caregivers? Stick to your job description!
HEAD TEACHER
That's it, you're fired, bye.
MR. POTTER looks at the HEAD like he's mental and leaves his chair. Before he opens the door, he gives one last dirty look then exits.
Alrighty, here comes the rocking anecdote…
Keeping up with the tradition, I’ll say something about the journey to the place me and my chum went to. I’ll keep it brief: Whilst being driven on the motorway, I noticed a no stop sign. I was thinking to myself ‘what kind of person stops on a motorway? Was that sign REALLY necessary?’ Ok, that’s it, now I’ll talk about the actual go up-ingness. To cut a long story short, I could only manage the easiest route to the Heavens. The blue route out of the yellow, purple, etc.; if you’re unusually curious, that is. Personally I would say that yellow is an easier looking colour than blue, but I suppose the latter does have a calming effect. On the first 4 or 5 attempts, I almost made it to the top, but couldn’t manage to reach the very last grip as it was just too scary. :( How my friend did it was so much apparent ease was a mystery. That alone was bothering me so I gave it another go. Without a harness and with admirable super-bravery, I went for the last hold as I moved my leg into a very unnatural position. Woop woop! As I said, everything else was impossible, but I did give the other routes a few attempts.
After that upsetting then fulfilling business, we went CD shopping in the nearby Guildford. To be honest I don’t know where we just went. Let’s also call it Guildford. Well it doesn’t matter does it? (Unless you’re stalking me. :S) As we bought a load of second hand stuff, it was pretty cheap. Not charity shop cheap, but on the bright side both the CDs and cases were in very good condition. I haven’t listened to all of them yet, but I’m definitely looking forward to doing so. I got myself some Judas Priest (can’t go wrong there), Queensryche, Yes, (more risky as I don’t know too much about them, but I’ve heard great things), ZZ Top (blues rock at its finest) and Oasis (not exactly exciting but very tuneful). To end the outing, we went to Andertons guitar shop to have a bit of a noodle. Judging by some of the other people playing their borrowed instruments in the closed off rooms, it seemed I had a bit of competition. Rock’n’roll leads were played very competently, so I made it my duty to play faster than everyone else. I treated the world to some minor/minor pentatonic licks/runs, then left with my head held high. Other than me going to the gym and me typing this stuff up later, that was the day pretty much it. And until next time……. …… …… …. … .. . Bye! ……..