The easiest route was...myself.
He took the wrong route.
He stopped short...
The bigger they are...the harder they fall and all.
I enjoyed tackling.
"Bravo that boy, very brave!"
I smirked, I admit to being not a little proud of that tackle.
Refereeing the match was a talent-scouting house-master who went by the name of Dracula.
A few months later, I was in Dracula's study.
"Tell me, Simon, what are your ambitions?"
"I would like to play rugby for England."
"Yes, yes... but what else?"
"Would you like to be head-boy for example?"
"No, I think it is ridiculous that older boys have power over younger ones, I think the idea that monitors are the only ones who are allowed to wear brown shoes is...ridiculous."
I liked the word ridiculous, particularly the stress on 'dic' and the two last syllables, I liked the way the tongue moved to say it.
I embodied disdain.
From that moment, I was marked as a nuisance, an annoyance, one not to be trusted.
Not even brown shoes would buy me, good heavens.
His final words when I finally escaped his clutches were:
"We shall miss Simon's way of... er making his position...er his disagreement...clear."
Prostitution Ring
"Are you prepared to prostitute yourself for this agency?"
I was a little surprised at the up-frontness of the interview question.
I figured that that was how they must speak in Public Relations.
"Of course."
I said it, convincingly enough for them to move onto the next question.
"Would you like to drive a BMW? All our executives get to drive BMW's."
I wasn't too sure about the BMW.
The serial car-incidents flashed before mine eyes.
- My father's Austin - Gate post.
- The vinyard's Citroen Van - Dangerously close to tumbling down a valley near Beziers.
- The boss's Morris - Ran out of petrol in rush hour in Oxford Street.
- The boss's Citroen - Break-down in Camden
- The boss's Transit Van - Scratched before exiting car-dealers.
- The boss's Taxi - Abandonned while driving itself in Drive.
- The four driving tests - FAILED.
I reckoned that the BMW could probably wait.
Coffee-mourning
I was invited at the weekend for a coffee.
I thought that that was a little suspicious.
It appears one always gets offered a cup of bloody coffee when they give you the sack.
"Thank you for giving me the sack, that way I will not have to put up with any more of your stupid jokes and I will be entitled to unemployment benefit, as otherwise I would have had to have resigned."
Those were the words that I remember spitting, or words to that effect.
Trust me. It's Official.
As we are talking about TRUST this week here in Connected Courses, I feel the need to come clean.
I love working in a team for a cause that I can embrace, fully.
I enjoy being in a band of imagined villains, pirates, outlaws.
I am terribly uncomfortable with badges, labels, official sort of stuff...
Unless of course it is part of a piratical plan.
If that's the deal, "Ahoy mates!"
The Academy won't save us.
Oscar might come in handy.
I am brought back to a book of one of my favourite authors Joe Simpson - him of Touching the Void.
He never really comes to terms with the idea that one day he will not be a marginal climber on the dole.
I am, I suppose, like my friend Terry Elliott, an outsider.
I reread his article this evening: Iconoclasty 101: Outsiders in Academe for reassurance.
The Academy won't save us!
I want to enable us to have a space where it is difficult to distinguish facilitators from facilitators.
I want to us to have all sorts of biographies, all sorts of photos of unknown urchins with whom we may connect.
Artful then?
I am not sure how possible it is for me to be other than....
Dodger...
Pulling here, pulling there and giving a broad grin to a band of fellow urchins.
For Mia, Howard, Claudia et al.
