Great Expectations. . .

For some unknown reason my class at school was taken on a trip to the Barbican in London to see some people on stage do something...

Sorry, its a bit vauge...

It had something to do with an English lesson, but I was always far too busy looking at Samantha Sidney's breasts to take any notice of Shakespeare or god knows what.

I didnt know what a sonnet was, or who Macbeth might be, but I knew the exact dimensions of Sam Sidney's nipples through her sweater and how different temperatures caused them to rise and fall by degrees, by the end of the first term.

Anyway, we're all on the bus trundling down the M1 to London. The teacher, a stressed out little shit of a man named Mr Cliff, starts fucking about with the driver's microphone. His voice crackles over the loudspeaker.

"Class 4B, well be arriving in London in the next half hour, when we get to our destination blah blah blah blah blah"

No one was paying any attention. We were a bunch of kids from the Midlands going down to London for the day, we were fucking hyper. We were hoping to witnesses a genuine stabbing or armed robbery. We might even see someone famous, like the midgets out of Bros, or the Queen, or maybe even Ann Diamond.

So, Mr Cliff, just sort of trailed off his speech, having failed to engage his flock. But as he went to return the microphone to its holster on the dashboard, he muttered something barely audible under his breath. Barely audible, that is, before the microphone picked it up and amplified it round the bus.

"Dont know why I bother. The useless little fuckers are only gonna end up pushing brooms round car factories..."

And there was silence...

Oh, Mr Cliff! How wrong you were!

They closed down all the car factories a long, long time before we all left school...
( SpankyHanky, Sat 31 Jan 2009, 0:39, Reply)