THE BATTLE OF NASEBY
I was suspended four times during my illustrious scholastic career. One time it was definitely my fault, another two times it was because the teachers lacked a sense of humour, and the other time was due to the local BBC magazine telly program, Look East; a magazine programme featuring presenters who were too ugly to get on national TV, wearing shit suits, and showcasing the usual bag of donkey spunk stories about fuck all for the viewing benefit of no one.

It was summer, June 14th, and the PE teacher told us we'd all have to stay behind after school. Fat fucking cunt, that Mr Butler. But he then went onto explain we were going to be on TV as part of a Look East story. Ooooh! Fame! I'll have me a bit of that.

Some fella stood round in the changing room who we assumed was a common or garden paedophile having a butchers at our supple, hairless fourteen year old bodies turned out to be from an English Civil War re-enactment society. Apparently it was the anniversary of The Battle of Naseby and the producers of Look East wanted a bunch of kids to recreate the battle in the background while the ugly fucker presenter did a piece to camera. There were thirty of us in the class, now, I don't know anything except the English Civil War (everything I learned about ye olde tymes was from watching reruns of Dogtanian), but I reckoned there were probably more than thirty people involved in that there battle thing.

So, we spent that PE lesson prior to the TV crew making an appearance practising the fine art of war. We changed into our PE kit and were given a felt tunic to chuck over the top. We looked like a troop of poorly dressed female impersonators. We were also given a long broom handle. This, apparently, was going to be our 'weapon'. Fuck me – I'm surprised anyone got killed at Naseby; I mean, what were they? - swept to fucking death.

We did a bit of drilling, a bit of standing in line and waving these broomsticks about, and then we were ready. And the really cool bit, the REALLY FUCKING EXCELLENT part, was when a few of us who'd excelled in janitorial combat techniques, we're given little squishy plastic packets containing runny red stuff. The fuckers had only gone and given us – a group of teenage boys obsessed with watching Platoon and Apocalypse Now – a load of squibs. We were told how to use them; put them in a special concealed pocket on the tunic and when you 'die' give them a hearty slap, thus breaking the packet and covering the tunic in fake blood. Fuck me.... I really did think I'd died and gone to heaven.... I was stiff at the thought of dying in a gory mess on local television.

Fast-forward to after school. The TV van turned up, the local TV presenter (ugly as fucking sin and wearing a cheap C & A suit), is chatting on camera with our Headmaster and this fella from the re-enactment society. In the background the other lads and I our going through our paces – drill marching, doing a bit of broomstick waving, and generally looking like a mean and moody Roundhead and Cavalier army (only with fifteen soldiers on each side, it looked more like kicking out time at a Weatherspoons pub than a real battlefield, except they'd be a shitload more blood on the ground outside a Weatherspoons). The Look East tosser finishes his little piece to camera and we see the cameraman pan over to us: the big finale. My chance to fucking shine.

I notice where the camera's pointing, break ranks, and decide to do a dying swan routine complete with fake blood directly in front of the camera – my parents would be so fucking proud, I thought. But, to my horror, some other fucker from my class has decided to do the same thing. A twat named Nathanial is hogging my camera time, wailing like a banshee while he slaps the squib on his chest and slumps to his knees. Nat's doing such a fine job that the cameraman actually races over and does an extream close-up of this incredible action, this demonstration of Royal Shakespeare Company-standard death on stage.

And what happened next is how I got suspended for a week.

Without thinking much (never one for thinking things through, me), I raced over, stood directly in front of Nathanial, and proceeded to die. The cameraman looked a bit confused as it did not appear that anyone had pretend stabbed me, but fuck it, he probably thought, and continued to shoot. Then Nathanial reached for me and tried to push me out the way, then I pushed him back. From the corner of my eye I could see my PE teacher, Mr Butcher, start to get a bit nervous. I pushed Nat again, he pushed me again, almost knocking me out of shot. This really pissed me off. I mean, REALLY...

So, with broomstick in hand, I sprang at Nathanial, twatted him across the head with it, and in full view of the audience of Look East (mostly grannies sat in front of the TV doing a bit of knitting), I screamed:

“FUCKING STAY DEAD YOU FUCKING CUNT !!!”

My feet, as they say, hardly touched the fucking floor....
( SpankyHanky, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 8:31, 7 replies)

FTW
and if not, I will petition the B3ta-gods
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 8:38, closed)

Excellent story, matey...
...and a *click* for the Dogtanian reference - the kids today would be much better off learning a thing or two from the Muskehounds.
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 9:08, closed)

Look East
Bet that went down well! Ha! click
(Lizard King, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 9:38, closed)

excellent post sir
had me spitting coffee out all over the place and getting weird looks from people in my office!
(Freddie Gonads, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 9:43, closed)

Brilliant.
Very.
(Big D, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 16:15, closed)

That my friend is a thing of beauty
*almost crying laughing here*

Clicks till it's out of fashion :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Sat 13 Jun 2009, 17:56, closed)

You've just reminded me
when I met Stewart Miles White of Look East myself. I'll post it as a separate story

*click*
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 15 Jun 2009, 3:55, closed)