Ballcony scene
My best mate Dan at secondary school had some kind of bizarre scrotal fluid-retention condition which resulted, for a period of about four months in year 10, in him having one ginormous, majestic nad alonside his suddenly-relatively-folorn-looking normal one. Since he was understandably a touch sensitive about the exotic and terrifying contents of his y-fronts, it was agreed that it'd be a secret - one that I'd sworn on our friendship to carry to my grave.

After weeks of militaristic organistion, favour-pulling and dinnertime bribery, he finally landed the role of Romeo in the school play opposite - you guessed it - Chloe, the girl he'd been obsessed with since junior school. She was popular even back then, but now she'd blossomed into an implausibly beauteous maiden and was basically beating them off with a shitty stick. Dan saw his opportunity to woo her on a more intellectual and intimate level, and, to be fair to him, he used it well: rehearsals went brilliantly, and by opening night, rumours were rife that he was in for a bit of corset-popping at the aftershow shindig in the main hall.

Alas, fate wasn't smiling on him that night. The curtain went up at the start of Act II, and, as he emerged from the wings for the famous weepy scene, a hushed murmur of confusion rippled around the audience of parents, teachers and friends. There appeared to be a large protuberance in his trouser area - given that he was wearing a cod piece coupled with sheer lilac tights, it looked almost aggressively tumescent. Dan clearly hadn't noticed, but while he was "wherefore"-ing for all he was worth, people were starting to laugh quite loud. So, from the front row, I did the only thing I felt I could. Feeling like I was bellowing at the top of my lungs, I tentatively hissed "Dan, your...um...costume...". Fucksocks - not quite loud enough. Like the true pro he wasn't, poor chap, Dan turns round mid-sentence and, squinting in the full glare of the spotlight, says: "What..?"

What the hell was I supposed to do? By this time everyone was looking at me, including Romeo and Juliet, and everyone sitting around me knew exactly what I was trying to do. I panicked. I was embarrassed. I was mortified. We'd had a half-joking conversation before the show about how awful it would be to get a hard-on just before you went onstage, and for some reason I was convinced this was precisely what the audience believed they were gawping at right there and then. I didn't want everyone to think he had a lob on for his would-be-bride. That'd ruin his chances of romantic conquest. He'd be gutted.

So I shouted "Your water bollock is out."

He had about a week off school. When he came back, he'd had it 'sorted'. The water bollock was no more. Neither, alas, was our sacred bond of brotherly trust. :/

I don't even know where he lives these days. I do know it's not with Chloe, cuz she married an ice hockey player and moved to Canada - a journey almost as long as this entry.
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:27, Reply)