I'm late
I went to a church school. A small Church of England School with only one class of 30 per year, one class of purple and gold wearing children. I went to the school of St. Michaels (the saint which, judging by our uniform, was the Saint of the Colour Blind) There was a chapel at the back of the school hall and once a week we trudged down to the local church for a service.

I remember very little of most of the church services - apart from the fact that I can point at a Michaelmas daisy (purple and gold) and confidently name it, I'm sure this must have been included at some point. ANYWAY...I remember one Michaelmas Service with great clarity. I felt God move through me.

Michaelmas services, the BIG DEAL, occur in September. The season of daddylongleglegs, damp and returning-to-school-misery. I guess I must have been about 9 years old, I wasn't feeling too great. The morning scrum in the steamy cloakroom just made me feel a bit..well, sick. My peg, with a carefully coloured in snake (don't ask) seemed to loom at me threateningly. Assembly came and went. I remember that there was a lot of rumbling going on, and that it wasn't just the headmaster going on about trees which had been "murdered" by someone carving in them. The rumbling was coming from the hollow in my stomach. *rumble rumble squirt*

I calmed myself. "It's all OK, you're just hungry, a quick walk to church and back and it'll be all over, then lunch. It's all OK. St Michaelmas is watching."

Assembly over. Back to the cloakroom (incidentally - WHY? Why get us to get changed and then go back out? WHY? apart from the fact that it was the early eighties and sadism was fashionable?) and back on with our coats. I had a bloody lovely coat. It was cream with a fur hood. I loved that fucking coat.

The walk to the church commenced. Two by two, holding hands, gently insulting one another, we made our way to the church. My usual chit-chat was dimmed by the frantic rumbling in my tum. Also, I had started to cramp. My partner of the day, Alan, kept looking at me funny. I expect he was wondering why I wasn't quoting the latest hilarious Beano gag. I was starting to worry. I was also starting to fart.

"Oh God no, please, no" As we arrived at the Church I literally BEGGED the teacher to use the toilet. I remember pointing at the vicar's daughter (who was in our class and SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH had STOLEN the part of Mary in the Nativity play - I'M NOT BITTER) and saying "Rachael won't mind". The teacher looked at me pityingly (smugly) - "Cat, sit down, prayers are about to begin"

"The Lord be with you"
"and also with you *rumble*"
"Feel him in your hearts"
"We feel him in our hearts *RUMBLE*"
"Lift up your souls"
"We *squirt* OH GOD! We lift them to you Lord"

DISASTER

I couldn't help it. It all came rushing through me. It was a three way split -

JESUS - screamed Alan as my vomit splatted on his shoes
HOLY LORD - shouted my teacher as my arse exploded and made a drum beat on the pew
THE HOLY GHOST - was my poor white, scared face as I realised I'd defaced a holy place. My poor poor coat. My lovely cream coat.

Poor little me. I'm 35 now. I'm experiencing a real crisis of faith. If there is a God, why would he choose to put a little child through such terrible embarrassment? And then I remember...there is no God.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 21:01, 2 replies)

What is it with teachers
who don't believe you when you're a little kid and in need of the toilet? I remember a similar occasion when I was queuing up to enter the classroom and needed to vom, and the teacher told me to wait 5 mins until someone else from the class was back in the queue. Resulting in me vomming all over the corridor, 5 other kids and myself.

Your story is fabulous. *click*
(judeski walked on water and ran through fire, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 21:36, closed)

*clicks*
"I was also starting to fart."

Brilliant!
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 26 Mar 2009, 9:35, closed)