» Mugged

Picture the scene
Two young lads, skipping through their local park, minding thier own business, as 8 year olds do.

At this point a large, acne covered, branded tracksuit covered teenbeast advances on them and goes straight for a demand.

Fearfully, the two kids reach for their meager pocket money and one for a phone.

"Quickly, Quickly!" Bellows the Mugger.
"Excuse me?" I asked, tapping the man on the shoulder.

He span round, fists ready for the fool who'd interupted his easy pickings.

And then the branch thumped him in the face. I'd never actually knocked someone of their feet before, and I must say, I enjoyed the feeling. I wish people would try to mug my little brother more while I'm nearby.
(Thu 15th Jun 2006, 17:33, More)

» Messing with the Dark Side

New-Tech, dead tech.
We were in RE talking about, in great mirth the principle of contacting the dead and all that. The whole class did not believe, spare for my good friend who shall remain nameless. Infact, he was against the whole idea, being as he is, a rather evangelical Christian.

Two students, lets call them Alpha and Beta take it upon themselves to construct a ouija board during the lesson and then say that a ghost is telling them thier friend sucks - or whatever. Everytime they put an object down and pushed it around, it was snatched from them by said friend. Until they produced a mobile and started spelling that they where smelly, or some other great insult.

Then, the phone rang. Beta fell of his chair. The whole class fell silent as he clambered back up to the table. The room watched in awe as he lifted the phone to his ear and said in rather more shaky terms than usual... "Hello?"

"STOP IT YOU TWAT!"

I hung up.

I'd ask you how it was, but I think I'll just get my coat.
(Thu 20th Apr 2006, 16:45, More)

» Awesome Sickies

Last Time
I did something worse mentioning back in year 9. It was the week before SATS, and I was going to fail. Hard. I had stayed in my full fledged 'pay no attention' mode for the better part of the year, and at Latymer 'Do well or else' school, this was bad.

I was trying desperatly to think my way out my situation as I left, that miserable tuesday. Laiden down with my heavy school bag and Trumpet Case, I considered my options. Now amount of emergency revision could possibly help me now. As the rain pourewd down, I realised I was lost. My parents would be furious, and my school teachers would feel betrayed.

At this point, fully in desperation, I looked left, and saw a bus, slightly closer than I was accustomed to. With untold speed, I swung full round, and attempted to fend of the iron beast with my right hand.

I flew back several metres before coming back to earth. After what seemed like an age, I lifted my sodden frame and scarred possesions out of the road, hand burning as if I'd, well, just taken on a bus.

A man leapt from the stationary bus, and pulled me out of the road, and I shuddered to the pavement. He asked me questions around the general theme of "Are you all right?!" "Can you feel your arm?!" and "Dear God, are you OK?!". As the ringing in my ears continued, I mumbled feebly back a mixture of apologetic, painfilled and embarresed answers, all of which revolved around the theme of being "ok...."

After about 10 seconds, I was able to reclaim what little sense had been knocked out of me, and I was in a more rational state of mind. I assured the Samaritan that I was ok, and could take care of the situation, though my arm still refused to move without shooting pain through my whole body. I juddered towards the bus, and attempted to get my battered frame on board, only to be refused by the very bus driver who has hit me.

Still slightly dazed, I limped down the road, getting more and more soaked. By the end of the 20 miniute walk, I was convinced that though the pain was bad, I could handle it, to the extent that I would deal with it myself. I got onto my next bus, and spent the whole journey sitting on my hand so as to numb it, and deciding that I would not tell my parents. It's hardly a conversation piece, after all. ("Hey! I got hit by a Bus!") I got off the bus and made it home, where I set about my meager amounts of homework, made more challenging by my inability to hold a pen, without being reduced to tears. When enquired about my slow progress, I merly stated that I was 'finding it hard', and I was told to get on with it.

The next day, I was given a ride to school, sitting on my hand whenever I could. I got into school, and emmidaitly told my form teacher that I was unable to hold a pen, being that I had been hit by a bus.

I repeated this to my elderly, ill-tempered English Teacher who did not believe my story. To her, it was an elabourte rouse to get out of the English Mock she had planned for the day. After all, who gets hit by a bus?

About 15 miniutes into the mock, a fellow student went up to the Teacher and got me excused for the reason that I had broken down into tears for even trying to hold a pen. Bitterly, becasuse I was making a scene, I was sent to the medical room.

Tearfully, I explained my position to the nurse, who immidiatly called my Mother, and I was wisked off to the emergeny room. Half an hour after I arrived, I was poked repeatedly in my overly tender hand and in the lack of X-Rays, a full arm cast was administeared.

The next day, slightly more free from pain, having no longer the ability to move my arm, I walked into my English room, and stated in a voice for all to hear "I got hit by a bus, and now my arms in a cast!". My teacher looked like she'd died.

I was given the entire test week off school, and a good two after that. I moved down from cast to splint, for a further week. (At this point, it was still still a mystery what damage I had actually caused.) Finally recieving X-Rays by the worst nurse I have ever had the misfortune to meet ("Hold you hand like this." "I can't. It hurts." "Here." *Twist*) and when examined, no bones where visibly broken. A doctor stared at them and found nothing. A specalist poked my wrist to yowls of pain, and decreed that I had broken my 'Skafoid', a small bone in my wrist, between other bones. I was placed back in a cast, and I remained so for a further 2 weeks.

During this time, I was sent back to school and attempted to type with the help of a tiny laptop (The kind those irrating Yuppies use) to do work, but never actually did any. The work that I did do however, some how improved. Something to do with the fact that I was now paying attention in class.

Or so I thought. I was talked about behind closed doors, and sent away for tests in London. I was diagnosed with Mild Dyslexia and Moderate Dyspraxia, which means not only can I request a computer whenever I want, I am given a laptop in all of my exams, and extra time.

Incase your wondering, I was instantly attributed level 7's for my Sats, which I certainly would not have got.

It was the best thing I ever did.

They say size doesn't matter, but from my surveys, "It's a nice suprise."
(Wed 14th Jun 2006, 18:33, More)

» Lies I told on my CV

Blimey
I just remembered. Once, when my friend was applying for a job, against my better judgement and was emailing his CV, he left the room to fetch some coffee. Lightning fast, I made some quick alterations.

Name: Tim Duffy (It's not, obviously)
Age: 19
Qualifications: None
Previous Experience: None
Hobbies: Collecting.
Abilities: I can kill a man.
(Mon 10th Jul 2006, 14:10, More)

» Lies I told on my CV

Not just CV's
I have a tendency when dealing with such dull and tedious activities such as writing a CV to have one of two responses. I either become extremly sarcastic and bitter about the whole procedure (a good example being my GCSE Biology conclusion. I had become so disulusioned with the whole process of finding how great an effect osmosis had on bits of potato, that my closing statement read "At long last, mankind will finally know how much salt water goes into a soggy potato chip.") or, I get bored to the extent that I set myself some inane task, like in my latest CV, writing movie stories into it.

In the past, I have listed the entire montage sequence of Rocky as my hobbies, and my motto was a line from "Eye of the Tiger.".

Being that I'm a lazy begger, I have very little to place in the box for previous experience, and so usually relate to my short film project which kind of counts. Of course, I was subject to the usual 'inflation' of achievement, so writing a script and vaugly telling people to do it became "Project Management from the point of concept creation to realisation." As I recall, once I copied a recent winner of best director speech. You see, my CV's are more fun to read. If you look twice, you will see that a lot of it is infact an homage to cinema.

To this day, I remain completly unenployed.
(Mon 10th Jul 2006, 14:04, More)