It was a perfect day: a throbbing sun beat down but a stiff breeze lifted the fringes of the sixth-form girls' skirts.
The air was thick with the heady waft of fresh-cut grass. An ice-cream van parked up beside the tennis/netball/hockey/football/bulldogs court was selling off all its Orange and Lemon Sparkles for 10p each because there were so many smiling parents and red-faced, sticky-chinned (behave!) children to cater to. Groups of lithe, lanky girls wearing bust-enhancing sashes fanned themselves with entry forms and exercise books, while squint-eyed boys lolled flushing and bed-haired in the acrid white dust that lined the pockmarked footy pitches. Year 8s swung from the crossbars, year 9s tried to knock them off with rubber coits. Teachers pretended to scold them, but they too were really more concerned with loosening their ties, slipping off their brogues and grabbing a lolly with their respective forms. Every now and then a lazy bee would streak by, too chuffed with the wholesome spectacle to bother stinging anyone.

And then some monger chucked a javelin before the whistle and it went through this speccy kid's neck. Fucked everything right up, but it did make the front page of the Sheffield Star. The word 'HORROR' was involved, as I recall.
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 17:42, Reply)