Age 7, cartoon rules still apply to fights...
I remember a lad from my school called Kevin Martin, thought he was the dog's bollocks (although his hadn't descended by this point) and used to bully smaller kids for no real reason other than he was a first class vagabond.

Anyway, I'd just finished second of 3 in a rousing "Grand National" (run as fast as possible, jump the flowerbeds, pretend you fell off your horse if you were tired... I was a fat kid, go figure), only to get taunted by said boy. I was still quite tall though myself, and whilst backing towards the toilet block I thought I'd risk my chances and insult him back, safely in the knowledge that I could hide (and, if it was that scary, shit myself) in a cubicle in relative comfort.

Facing the wrong way, I backed directly into the side wall of it, the door around the corner. Just as I'd realised, Kevin was running at me, screaming and rotating his arms in some kind of double-vertical helicopter, obviously homing in for the kill. I flicked him the V's (I'm a Northerner, again go figure) and... wait for it... moved out of the way.

His eyes were closed, but didn't see his hands turn to mush on the brickwork. I did. He must've broken about three fingers of his right hand and one of his left, plus the various nasty scrapes. It got so bad that, 2 years ago, I found out through a friend that he had to start writing with his left hand as his right was pretty much minced from that point, and never really recovered. I think my friend's techincal assessment was that "his handwriting's wank". I can't remember caring at the time, I was too busy playing Grand National the next few days to realise that I didn't see him for about 2 months after the incident.

This story has a charming epilogue, though. In the big boy's playground of year 3 he called me a "Poo Bum Wee Wee" while I was playing football - I only remember this because my friends from Primary School all those years ago still call each other it in the present day - so I chased him up the yard. He turned round, dropped a banana skin from his lunchbox, and kept on running. Obviously he thought it was the pursuer's natural enemy, perhaps through his SNES or Looney Tunes. I picked it up and threw it at his stupid face. It hit him in the eye and I got in a load of trouble, but it was worth it.

It was only when I got home did I realise he thought I'd slip up, I thought he just threw like a girl.



It's not the length of the post, it's the how you post it that really drives the ladies wild
( TGP on the rock 'n' roll, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 23:48, Reply)