Vern’s dire spading attempt
Boggo being slapped twice in ten minutes by different girls
Garlic inviting at least twenty girls to Lake Malawi (not one of them was interested)
I had a terrible hour or so thinking about the Mermaid and her new boyfriend and what they might be doing right then
POINTS OF INTEREST
We’re not the only ones who take bets on scoring. Seems like Christine and her mates have their own tote running. Any girl brave enough to kiss Fatty receives one hundred bucks. Any girl psycho enough to kiss Vern will pocket R400. Nobody claimed the money.
Only Simon and Rambo (he says) came right last night. Thankfully, Christine was too busy kissing everyone else to pay me much attention.
Boggo’s foolproof scoring theory was a dismal failure. Aside from Boggo being slapped twice in ten minutes, Vern made a terrible hash of using Boggo’s spading method and had a mortifying cretin attack in front of a crowd of about twenty girls. Fatty tried the technique on a terrified thirteen-year-old girl who looked barely out of primary school. The girl threatened Fatty with a lawsuit and then locked herself in a bathroom until her dad arrived to take her home.
I didn’t receive so much as a look or a smile from a single girl.
Monday 17th February
13:30 A handwritten sign on The Guv’s gatepost read:
LUNCHEON
Underneath it said:
Strictly no halfwits
I found The Guv in the kitchen wearing a frilly green apron, which he said belonged to his late mother. In his hands he held a savage looking meat cleaver and lying on the counter was a gigantic hunk of black meat.
‘Springbok,’ he divulged. ‘Poor thing – if only it had clung onto life like it clung onto the roof of my freezer.’ He then asked, ‘How do you like your wildlife, Milton – fried in butter or buggered and boiled?’
Thankfully, we didn’t have to eat the springbok that’s been doing a Walt Disney in The Guv’s freezer since the late seventies. Instead he offered up eggs and bacon and said that occasionally having breakfast for lunch kept his bowels honest and his stools impressive.
The Guv then began to remove the entire contents of his fridge in search of some eggs. I strolled through to his living room to take up my usual position in the armchair at the window. I nearly dropped the books I was carrying when I realised that there was another schoolboy sitting in my chair. ‘Rowdy?’ I almost shouted. ‘What are you doing here?’ I was attempting to come across nonchalant but my voice emerged as a strident shout. Rowdy was alarmed by my dramatic entrance and staggered to his feet like he was guilty of a heinous crime.
He didn’t say anything other than an extremely soft grunt of ‘Sir.’ But it was nevertheless pleasing to see that he was looking at me with fear, awe and respect.
‘Milton, you must know Simpson,’ said The Guv as he entered the living room with two bottles of wine and a corkscrew. I informed The Guv that back at the house he was known as Rowdy, which amused my English teacher hugely. Poor Rowdy blushed and grinned sheepishly but true to form said absolutely nothing. It was more than a little weird talking to The Guv in front of the silent Rowdy. He never said a word and observed the conversation like he was watching a tennis match at Wimbledon. The Guv continued like Rowdy wasn’t there except he didn’t offer me any wine, which was a disappointment.
The conversation then turned to cricket and The Guv was utterly appalled that I was playing for the fifths. ‘Fools!’ he shouted while pacing around his living room like a maniac. ‘Have these pedestrian people never heard of the refined art of leg break bowling?’ The Guv raged on about this being a sign of the times and the end of a golden age in cricket where seductive flight and a rotating ball could melt the miniskirts off buxom women.
I left early. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings in front of the silent presence at the window. I marched back to the house in a rage. I was angry with The Guv for inviting somebody else to our lunch. I was angry with Rowdy for sitting there like an idiot and not saying a word. I was angry that another Valentine’s Day has come and gone without somebody to share it with.
21:00 Vern lined up the Fragile Five on the top step of the urinal and spent half an hour saluting at them. The Fragile Five never questioned what they were doing, and returned Vern’s three hundred odd salutes with serious faces and complete concentration.
Something is up with Vern. After years of watching him closely I’ve come to realise that it’s impossible to know what (or if anything at all) is going on inside his head. But the key is to watch for sudden changes in behaviour. At present his new habits include:
Drawing hundreds of pictures of my laundry bag
Shining his shoes constantly
Putting Roger’s tail in his mouth
Shooting an imaginary gun at the roof
Drinking out of his contact lens solution bottle
Wednesday 19th February
Didn’t sleep very well. My mind was churning about yesterday’s lunch and all the other things that occupy most of the space in my brain. I suppose I can’t blame The Guv for helping a new boy who’s scared and homesick – after all that was me two years ago. It doesn’t feel the same with Rowdy there so perhaps that will be an end to our lunches and our crazy discussions about women, cricket and literature. And perhaps it’s also time to accept that Mermaid will always be out of my league and I should probably settle for somebody with smaller boobs and a better personality.
The entire Crazy Eight has enrolled in confirmation classes with Reverend Bishop! Our first lesson is this afternoon – I bet the Rev is dreading it …
CONFIRMATION CLASS 1
‘Be God’s Sheep’
God knows what persuaded the school chaplain to select this title for both his first lesson and as a controversial way of attracting new recruits. If it wasn’t for the fact that everyone appears to be pushing for prefect, I don’t think a single member of the Crazy Eight would have signed up to be religious livestock.
After a long and heartfelt opening prayer, Reverend Bishop opened up his arms in welcome and asked us if we would like to ask him any questions. Vern immediately thrust his hand into the air and asked the Reverend if he could go to the toilet. The chaplain smiled and said, ‘Of course, Vern.’ Vern grinned at the Reverend but didn’t leave his seat. This confused the school chaplain because he stammered quite badly over his next line and fumbled awkwardly with his papers.
‘Father?’ said Rambo, raising his right hand. The Reverend’s face broke into a gentle grin and he said, ‘Robert, there’s no need to call me Father. Reverend will do fine.’
Rambo looked wistfully out of the window and then back at the chaplain. ‘I would rather call you Father, Father because I don’t have a father …’ Tears immediately sprang to the chaplain’s eyes and he charged over to pat Rambo on the back in sympathy. Boggo snorted derisively from the back of the vestry but didn’t mention the fact that Rambo was overheard at breakfast saying that he and his dead father were going to win the father and son golf day.
Overall our first confirmation class wasn’t as bad as expected thanks to a fierce debate on the meaning of life and the meaninglessness of school.
Reverend Bishop says that without a deep commitment to and belief in God, no man or woman will ever lead a fulfilling existence. This obviously accounts for why I’m unfulfilled.
Boggo volunteered for every single Bible reading, all of which he carried out with a superior look on his face. His routine was to close his eyes at the end of each reading as if consumed with religious spirit and then whisper, ‘Amen.’ He would then return to his seat with his Bible pressed closely to his heart. The chaplain was mightily impressed with Boggo’s religious passion although Simon lost his cool after Boggo’s third performance and blurted out, ‘Reverend, I think you should know that Greenstein is Jewish.’
‘So is Spud,’ said Garlic, pointing at me with a pencil.
&n
bsp; Boggo threatened to show everyone his penis, but the chaplain doused the flames by saying, ‘Boys, I don’t care who or what you are. What I care about is that you are here now. After all, let’s be reminded that our Lord and saviour was himself Jewish.’
‘Jesus was Jewish?’ boomed Garlic in confusion. The chaplain didn’t answer Garlic and launched straight into his closing prayer, before raising his arms aloft and saying, ‘Now go forth into the world and become God’s sheep.’ The Crazy Eight bleated all the way back to the dormitory.
Thursday 20th February
Dad phoned to say our house is infested with termites and that it has to be fumigated immediately. He reckons this is a sure sign that the timber industry has fallen into the hands of incompetent leftists. ‘Swines!’ he shouted, although it was unclear whether he was referring to the termites or the leftists.
After English, The Guv called me aside and said, ‘Milton, I’m sorry I sprang Simpson on you the other day.’
‘No problem,’ I said.
‘The boy became hysterical after class and I’m terrible with tears,’ he said as if reliving the moment in his mind.
‘It’s fine, sir,’ I said.
The Guv studied me over the top of his spectacles before saying, ‘So as an apology …’ He strode over to his bookshelf. ‘I’m giving you this.’ He dropped a book into my waiting hands and with one hand on my shoulder said, ‘I want you to have it. Read it once a decade until your restlessness dies and you become an old drunken hermit.’ He then guided me out of the classroom with his hand on my shoulder. He said, ‘It defined my generation, old boy. It awoke my wanderlust and made me ceaselessly unhappy. I wish you greater fortune with it.’
I began reading Jack Kerouac’s novel called On The Road on the cobbled path back to the house. I think I’m going to like it.
Friday 21st February
Spent all afternoon with Fatty in the archives. Perched up in the northern turret overlooking the quadrangle I felt strangely peaceful and protected from the general madness of the school. I complimented Fatty on the work he’s done fixing the place up. He blushed and led me past a shelf labelled POSSIBLE MYSTERIES. The shelf above it was called DEFINITE MYSTERIES and the very top shelf was COMPLETE MYSTERIES.
Other shelf headings included SCANDALS, LIGHTNING STRIKES, MCARTHUR SIGHTINGS, GENERAL GHOST SIGHTINGS, and SEXY BABES. (Fatty admitted that he only made the SEXY BABES shelf to keep Boggo busy while Fatty works on the archives.)
‘The teachers never come up here,’ said Fatty. ‘In fact nobody really ever comes up here except for Boggo and Sidewinder.’
The small gingery face of Sidewinder suddenly appeared from behind a shelf called SUICIDE & UNEXPLAINED DEATH. Fatty pointed at the small boy and said, ‘Oh, Spud, you know Sidewinder.’ Sidewinder waved nervously and said, ‘Afternoon, sir.’
‘Afternoon, Sidewinder,’ I replied in a formal voice. Fatty explained that the new boy was helping out with general filing and then ordered him off to make us tea and an egg mayonnaise sandwich. Sidewinder seemed desperately eager to please and scampered down the thin turret staircase like his life depended on it. When the first year was gone, Fatty winked at me and whispered, ‘He thinks I’m a prefect – how cool is that?’
Turns out that Sidewinder is being bullied by Pike, JR Ewing and Thinny and is more than happy to help Fatty with his archives in return for a place of safety for the afternoons and early evenings. Fatty collapsed into an old armchair with a groan and said, ‘Feel free to pull in. It makes a good hideaway when things in the house get a tad intense.’ I tried to thank Fatty for the open invite but he interrupted me with: ‘You can even write your diary here. I mean … if you want to. It’s nice for me to … you know … like, have some company.’
He then pointed out a quotation that he had stuck to the wall with pink chewing gum.
‘History does not repeat itself. Historians repeat each other.’ A J Balfour
‘How symbolic is that?’ he said proudly like he had written the words himself.
Sunday 23rd February
Bad news for Boggo was that the choir was singing at Evensong. He looked mortified and buried his head in his hymnbook as the choir processed down the aisle. I enjoyed his embarrassment immensely.
I nailed a hole-in-one during a high stakes putting competition just before lights out. Rambo said my putting stroke resembled that of somebody called Dick Faldo. Everyone packed up laughing after that, so now feeling less positive than before.
Monday 24th February
After lunch I retired to the bogs to examine my face. I have a nasty looking pimple on my forehead and a smaller one in the cleft of my chin. There seems to be no good reason for bringing my razor back to school and my hair is dull and brown and a little on the thatchy side. No wonder girls are giving me bat left, right and centre. I wouldn’t want to kiss this face either.
To make matters worse, Vern skulked out of the bogs tapping his stopwatch as if I had committed some dreadful sin. Then he fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a pad of yellow slips. He furiously began scribbling and signing, before handing me my first ever yellow slip for Loitering in the Bogs and Surrounds. He then crept back into the toilet stall to wait for his next victim.
Before Spike’s thrashing last week for Bad Form in the Bogs and Surrounds, Vern’s blue chits were a minor nuisance and mostly quite funny. In these suspicious times who knows what a new yellow chit might dish up? If Vern gets me thrashed for investigating a pimple, that might be the last straw.
Tuesday 25th February
Mom called to say that the house is being fumigated as of tomorrow. This means I’m staying elsewhere for the long weekend. There seemed to be an argument going on about whether Mom and Dad were staying at Marge’s or Frank’s. I told Mom I would rather stay at school than have to sleep in the same house as the girl who gave me consecutive Valentine’s bat and has ruined my fragile self-confidence. Mom obviously knew about Mermaid dumping me again because she didn’t ask any probing questions. My mother ended the call rather abruptly because she said she had just spotted Dad leaping off the top of a ladder and disappearing into Amber’s garden armed with a 5 metre long pool scoop.
On a more positive note Dad has just bought an M-Net decoder so that he can watch the Cricket World Cup. My mother is naturally terrified that Dad’s going to have another attack if things don’t go well with our cricket team down under. Mom’s also not sure how Dad is going to pay the monthly instalments for the decoder since he hasn’t worked in months – she suspects that he’s squirrelled away a sizeable nest egg somewhere in the depths of his garage.
Wednesday 26th February
Pleased to announce that South Africa have thrashed Australia in the opening game of the Cricket World Cup. Thanks to M-Net holding all the rights and Australia having nonsensical time zones, the games aren’t screened in the common room. I have to rely on word from Simon who mysteriously knows the cricket score no matter what time of day or night.
Dad was ecstatic about thumping the Aussies and phoned again in the afternoon to share the joy. He sounded quite sloshed and sang the first line of Shosholoza before forgetting the rest of the words and then set off on a dirty song about Australian sheep farmers, which he had just learned from Frank.
Thursday 27th February
Pike and Spike mugged Vern in the bogs and roughed him up pretty badly. To add insult to injury, Pike set fire to all of Vern’s yellow and blue chits. I’m not sure what the Pikes did to Rain Man but I heard him sobbing quietly into his pillow after lights out. I asked him if he was okay but he didn’t reply.
Friday 28th February
REASONS FOR FEARING LONG WEEKEND
1) Our house is now a gigantic circus tent
2) I could be living with my ex-girlfriend
3) I will then have to see her new boyfriend
4) This will make me fall in love with her again
5) Mom and Dad will definitely have a fight
6)
I’ll be forced to visit my grandmother
7) Tomorrow is Feb 29th meaning this is a leap year ( Fatty said dark stuff will definitely go down tomorrow)
8) General creeping fear of impending doom
Pike was on the Durban bus. He forced some second years out of the seat behind me and then spent the next two hours tormenting me. I tried to ignore him but it was like sitting in front of a giant blood-sucking mosquito. When we reached the bus stop, I noticed Plump Graham charging across the road to where his tearful mother was waiting. They hugged for so long that Pike eventually shouted, ‘Get a room, fat boy!’
Mom met me in the station wagon and showed me some large scrapes on the side door of the car. Apparently Blacky completely freaked out when Dad tried to load him into the car en route to the kennels. My father only made the situation worse when he lost his temper and chased Blacky around the garden with the hosepipe. Blacky then had some sort of emotional dog breakdown, which made Dad emotional because he was feeling guilty about taking Blacky to the kennels in the first place.
‘It was a hell of a thing,’ said Mom as she stared out at the road from behind a huge pair of dark glasses. I noticed her jaw was clenched which means her mind was ticking and the mood wasn’t good. When I asked her where we were staying this weekend, she didn’t answer. After some time she said, ‘Now, boy, it’s all been a little difficult, and I don’t want you to freak out because God knows we’ve all had enough of that this week …’ It’s worse than I thought …
Much worse.
I’m staying at Wombat’s!
14:30 Wombat flagged us down on the street outside her block of flats. She then directed us up the driveway and into a parking space like we had never visited her before.
Spud - Learning to Fly Page 7