Salty Tears and a FunFax
I’ll happily admit that I was a bit of a goodie-two-shoes in my younger years. I didn’t want to do well, I had to do well. I had no real pressure put upon me by my parents but I think somewhere in my twisted brain I wanted to be good so that my parents would at least have one child out of three that they didn’t have to worry about… that probably explains the mental breakdown I had around GCSE time, but I digress.

After being taken on a school trip to The March Museum… (oh yes, the tiny market town of March had its own museum) we were told that there would be a mini-project to write up a report of the various things on show in the museum, these included a collection of old CocaCola bottles, a child’s cot, various crap from the 60’s, misc fossils and everybody’s favourite a glass eye.

Soooo yes, normally I would have written up a few paragraphs, drawn a picture or two and handed it in… but this time it was different, there would be a prize given to the best report, well that changed all the rules! I HAD TO WIN! Only having two days to write the report I went crazy, I went back to the museum and drew detailed pictures of near enough everything in there, I spoke to the mad man who owned the museum and got his opinion on a few things and also a bit of the history of the building etc and then I set about writing my report. I stayed up nearly all night scribbling away, I had to get the report finished!!

The next day I turned up at school, bleary eyed, semi-conscious with a fistful of papers. My report was detailed, clear, concise it was pretty, it even had doodles, it was everything a report should be. I handed it in and eagerly awaited the next lesson to find out who had won the lavish prize.

Well, next lesson came around, cue me sitting at the back, fidgeting about, grinning from ear to ear like some sort of deranged headcase awaiting the results… nothing. Not a sausage. No mention of the project at all. I sat through an hour lesson, desperately trying to work out what had happened the previous week, had I imagined the whole thing? Had I misheard? Was I going potty at the young age of 11? Turned out it was none of these things…

I stayed behind after the lesson and asked my teacher what had happened. It became apparent that I was the only bugger who had actually bothered to hand in my project, so my teacher decided that she wouldn’t bring it up at the next lesson. I couldn’t believe it, I had wasted my time, well there was nothing else to do at that point but cry, so that’s what I did. Great big wobbly salty tears rolled off my cheeks and my teacher felt so guilty she gave me a £5 book token at my next lesson my for effort – I brought a FunFax… it was A-MAZING!

So I’m not sure what the lesson here is… maybe that crying sometimes gets you what you want? Who knows! Feel free to make up your own lesson! :)
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 14 Aug 2009, 14:36, 2 replies)

March
You live near March? One of my housemates in uni lived in Doddington, lovely place. You don't live in Wisbech, do you?
(Evilweevil is covered in bees, Fri 14 Aug 2009, 16:32, closed)

Haha
I used to live in March... interesting place!! Doddington isn't too bad, Wisbech is a hell-hole! Hehe
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Wed 19 Aug 2009, 11:00, closed)