» Well, that taught 'em

Not me...
...but three wonderful members of that amazingly cunning species known as the Pony.

Pony A:

I used to work in a riding school which had a competition yard attached, and there was one girl who, having started off in the riding school, ended up working on the competition yard, where she swiftly became a tad cocky. Now Pony A was a decrepit old bird who couldn't eat solid food and kicked like the devil, but was a good beginners pony and we loved her anyway. Competition yard brat had to do a day on the riding school yard, and by then thought she knew it all.

Grooming Pony A, stood directly behind her to do her tail - you tend to learn three paces onto the yard *never* to do this.

Pony A, smooth as you like, lamps her neatly on the shin, leaving a hoof-shaped bruise.

Pony A got polos in her dinner, which I may or may not have had something to do with :)

*************************

Pony B:

Pretty much a younger version of Pony A, ie tolerated all kinds of abuse from child beginners. Trotting merrily round the indoor arena, carrying a child that had thus far spent 40 minutes screaming in her ear, Pony B drops left shoulder, deposits screaming child on the ground, and trots happily to the back of the ride. Child was never seen again.

Pony B swiftly recieved a polo from the instructor of the lesson, no less.

*********************

Pony C: My favourite.

First day in a new job at another riding school, and it took me all of five minutes to realise that my new manager was a bitch on a power-trip.

Heard a lot about Pony C (let's call him Henry for the sake of b3ta-style anonymity) throughout the morning, and there came a point where all the ponies were in except Henry, who has a reputation for being quite the little shit. Cue me being handed a tiny headcollar (Shetland size) and the words "You can get Henry".

Henry was at the bottom of the pony field (good 1/3 mile walk), and matters were distinctly unhelped by turning round halfway down to see my new manager watching expectantly.

Came across a fat hairy pony at the bottom who, admittedly, looked every inch the little shit. Had I been wearing my glasses, I was later informed I would have seen a sickeningly smug grin on said manager's face...



...which I imagine disappeared rather swiftly as Henry walked back to the gate with me (without a headcollar), went through the gate quietly and steadfastly refused all provocation to play me up. This was made all the more satisfying by the fact that, for the whole of the four months I worked there, he took great delight in playing my manager up (especially in kids lessons), then being sweetness and light the minute I showed up - never met any pony since with such an evil sense of humour.



I maintain to this day that ponies are of superior intelligence - especially those three. Complete legends the lot of them!

Length? I wouldn't know.
(Fri 27th Apr 2007, 14:58, More)

» Best Graffiti Ever

When I was wee...
...I spent most summers on Brownie Camp, in a farmhouse-type thing that was used for all sorts of things. Perfectly idyllic place - sheep in the fields, water fights in the brook, more stick insects in the bathrooms than you could shake a erm... stick at, and so on and so forth. Good times.

Little Brownies slept in sleeping bags on mattresses in Dorm 1, which had a seriously grotty loo and managed to be cold even in summer. Bigger Brownies slept in sleeping bags in Dorm 2, which had bunkbeds, a slightly nicer bathroom, and a spirally-type staircase.

Why did the the older ones get the bunk beds? Because of a very large piece of graffiti on the bottom of one of the top bunks, which had apparently resisted all the increasingly desperate attempts at removal. It consisted of two robots, in what yours truly thought of at the time as "a rather unfeasible position", and the immortal verse:

If I were a robot
And you were one too
I'd give you a bolt
If you'd give me a screw



I slept in that dormitory three years running, and it was there every single year, in seemingly pristine condition. Probably still there if the place is still standing!
(Thu 3rd May 2007, 17:36, More)

» School Projects

On suspension bridges and longships.
Having been right through that wonderful institution known as the 'Great' British school system and (just about) come out the other side, I've done a fair few projects in my time. Most were a bit shite, but there were a few that stayed with me:

1) A term-long project about the Vikings in Year Four.
Now, my family history can be traced back a touch beyond that of most 8-9 year olds, in that I'm directly descended, by way of my grandmother's family, from the Vikings. Not just any Vikings either, some of the first Viking invaders of Ireland no less. With that in mind imagine, if you will, a belligerent 8 year old having a blazing row with her teacher over the veracity of the statement "My granny's a Viking!". Then imagine the same child spending the rest of the term making her ancestors proud and throwing herself into the Viking Project with such gusto the school started sending notes home about it.

The end result? We moved onto Romans the following term and, rather than being permitted to terrorise the Roman Project in the same way (not bleedin' likely!), I was allowed to slope off to the library for 'extra reading time'. I hated studying the Romans, loved reading books, and spent the rest of that term happy as a larry who'd just won the literary lottery. Score!



2) Building suspension bridges.
Same school, slightly later in my colourful career there. We were put into groups, given free rein in the 'Modern' Technologies room, (which was somewhat rudimentary to say the least) and told to build bridges. Surprisingly, this wasn't a half-arsed, happy-clappy metaphor, it did actually mean 'build a sodding bridge strong enough to support Xkg of the cheap Lego ripoff we've borrowed from the Infant School'. My group laboured on, and on, and on, and eventually came up with a mildly efficient bridge, which broke in half more than held its own during the Lego-bearing competition.It was sometime during the competition that this project earned its place forever in my mind, when I realised I was always going to be what I'd heard called an 'arty type'. Why? Because while our bridge was lacking on the technological side (and by that point, in two distinct halves), I didn't care because artistically, it was a masterpiece that I still wish I'd kept.


Incidentally, it's not often the QOTW coincides with what I'm doing, but I finally remembered to check this week's (having been at a festival over the weekend) just as I finished making an ornamental oil-burner out of a miniature bucket, the lid from a tin of hair glitter, and a healthy amount of garden wire with the plastic stripped off. Which works remarkably and pleasingly well I should add.


No apologies for length, because it broke in half anyway.
(Tue 18th Aug 2009, 17:14, More)