Yesterday’s corner time: 4 Minutes.
Yesterday was my first ever sports day at school.
There was no mention of a Dad’s race but it was funny how all the fathers arrived wearing trainers, just in case. Whenever they believed no one was looking, I noticed them having furtive stretches.
I asked my Dad why he was wearing his running shoes but he said it was for no particular reason.
The whole philosophy behind our sports day was to provide an opportunity for everyone to demonstrate what they were capable of achieving. It most definitely wasn’t about winning or losing.
Naturally, this didn’t go down at all well with Dad who had already started taking bets on the day’s events.
Apparently, I was the clear favourite for the Egg and Spoon race and large quantities of money was exchanging hands.
Dad wanted me to take a dive before reaching the finishing line because, having placed all the money on Charlie Dexter, we would then clean up.
I didn’t want to clean up. I don’t like cleaning. Therefore, I stormed over the finishing line in first place. I looked around for the proud faces of my parents only to see Dad disappearing quickly into the distance with all the other Fathers in hot pursuit.
So, this is why he wore his running shoes.
Matthew.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Survivor
Yesterday’s corner time: 4 Minutes.
It turns out that the fairer sex is a complicated species and they’re not at all as simple as they look. This is both misleading and quite sneaky.
For example, last weekend, after we had been camping for three days in a location with no toilets or showers, I should have perhaps behaved slightly more sensitively when my mother commented upon how awful she must look.
Dad was quite rude and pretended not to hear the question. Therefore, to show that someone was listening, I voiced my agreement. And then, just in case she hadn't heard me, I confirmed that she really did look quite terrible.
Now, this was apparently where my behaviour deviated from those with a more highly developed sense of self-preservation.
Dad, by now, had mysteriously disappeared altogether. Mum seemed to becoming more and more irate but I was determined to cheer her up.
There and then, I composed a new song entitled "Smelly Mum" and I was just about to repeat the rousing chorus for the third time when a scream of “INCOMING!” rang from the bushes directly behind me. Ah, so that’s where Dad is I thought. Then everything went dark.
Dad’s missile warning had arrived too late but he did eventually volunteer that girls don’t always want you to agree with them. The trick is to know when.
I hope that I live long enough to find out.
Matthew.
It turns out that the fairer sex is a complicated species and they’re not at all as simple as they look. This is both misleading and quite sneaky.
For example, last weekend, after we had been camping for three days in a location with no toilets or showers, I should have perhaps behaved slightly more sensitively when my mother commented upon how awful she must look.
Dad was quite rude and pretended not to hear the question. Therefore, to show that someone was listening, I voiced my agreement. And then, just in case she hadn't heard me, I confirmed that she really did look quite terrible.
Now, this was apparently where my behaviour deviated from those with a more highly developed sense of self-preservation.
Dad, by now, had mysteriously disappeared altogether. Mum seemed to becoming more and more irate but I was determined to cheer her up.
There and then, I composed a new song entitled "Smelly Mum" and I was just about to repeat the rousing chorus for the third time when a scream of “INCOMING!” rang from the bushes directly behind me. Ah, so that’s where Dad is I thought. Then everything went dark.
Dad’s missile warning had arrived too late but he did eventually volunteer that girls don’t always want you to agree with them. The trick is to know when.
I hope that I live long enough to find out.
Matthew.
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