Sneakily parked tiger released
There I was, six years old, the second year of infant school, otherwise known inexplicably as year one.
Having just finished my delightful breaktime snack of cheesy Quavers - y'know,when they were still full of artificial colours and flavours and E-numbers and things - when I felt a little vom coming on.

I clenched my lips shut; my eyes widened in dismay. It was raining, and therefore "wet break" meant we were inside, and nowhere near a toilet. "A ha!", thinks my fiendish mind, "tis nought but a mini-sick; I shall discard it into this empty Quaver packet!"

Brilliant. Worked a treat. I scrunched up the top of the packet, containing my thankfully small technicolour yawn, and start to proceed towards the toilet.

Unfortunately, a favourite game at the time was to sneak up behind one of your full-packet-of-crisps-toting compadres and slap it from both sides, with the ultimate aim of a crispy explosion everywhere and the loss of the victim's salt-ladened sustenance.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you that at this point, a rather lovely female (girls aren't icky until you're about eight, y'know) distracted me while her associate attacked my Quavers With Extra Chunks from behind. Cue three six-year-olds covered in regurgitated potato snack, and a very impressive domino effect.

At least I wasn't eating Space Raiders; those packets are WAY too small.
(MightyX5 living on a small island on, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 1:24, Reply)