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» Protest!
Chips.
Chips.
I knew something was wrong the moment the metal hatch clattered ceilingward. Senga the dinner lady (for that may very well have been her name) looked … different. Her face had lost it's wholesome greasy patina; her hair, instead of the usual oil-slicked dirty yellow rat tails, stood proudly from her head in a glorious, hairsprayed peroxide pouf. Her habitual vinegarish expression had been swapped for one of horrified bewilderment. But for that day I wouldn't have thought it possible to look pale under a half inch of Superdrug own-brand foundation in shade no 6- blaring tangerine.
“Chips please, Senga.”
She glanced nervously down the line of 500 or so ravening youths. Her bottom lip trembled, her mouth gaping open and shut uselessly like a landed trout's before finally forming the terrible words-
“There's nae chips.”
The news hit me like a physical blow. “Nae chips?”
“Naw,” she said, shaking her head slowly “Nae chips.” She gestured to a poster on the wall. “Healthy eating initiative”
And there it was, in black and white. Comic sans*, no less. 'Healthy Eating Initiative'. With diagrams to illustrate what foods should be eaten, and in what proportion. Most of them were green. Beside the pie chart of oppression hung a menu of today's choices- baked potato with tuna, or pasta with tomato sauce. Served with salad or vegetables. Vegetables!! Not a chip in sight.
This was years before Jamie Oliver's school food shenanigans, so I could only assume the new head master had acted on his own initiative. The new head was full of progressive ideas. Unfortunately his catchment area was a patch of central Scotland where nobody had been employed for thirty years, the children played tig with hatchets, and -critically- chips were the staple food.
“Haw!” I said, elbowing the lad behind me to get his attention, “there's nae chips!”
The rumour spread like wildfire up the queue.
“Nae chips!”
“Well, whit is there?”
“Fish, just”
“Whit, battered fish?”
“Naw just fish fish”
And so on until it reached the end and a voice piped up “Well, fuck that! Ah'm no hanging around for nae fish!”
Obviously this was the popular sentiment, because 500 ravening youths, moving as one, voted with their feet and poured out of the lunchroom, past the dumbfounded head master and his deputy (a battle-hardened brute of a PE teacher, who unlike the head had cultivated the cynicism needed to wrangle wee buggers like us). Me being the first in, I was the last out. As I passed I heard the deputy say to the head
“Ah told you no to take away the chips.” And as he bulldozed his way through the departing pupils, I swear I heard him add “You daft cunt” under his breath. Chips were re-instated the next day.
Length? The queue for the chip shop stretched all the way round the corner.
*Anything printed in comic sans is bound to be bad news. If comic sans had been invented 70 years earlier it would, without a doubt, have been the official font of the Third Reich.
(Wed 17th Nov 2010, 2:53, More)
Chips.
Chips.
I knew something was wrong the moment the metal hatch clattered ceilingward. Senga the dinner lady (for that may very well have been her name) looked … different. Her face had lost it's wholesome greasy patina; her hair, instead of the usual oil-slicked dirty yellow rat tails, stood proudly from her head in a glorious, hairsprayed peroxide pouf. Her habitual vinegarish expression had been swapped for one of horrified bewilderment. But for that day I wouldn't have thought it possible to look pale under a half inch of Superdrug own-brand foundation in shade no 6- blaring tangerine.
“Chips please, Senga.”
She glanced nervously down the line of 500 or so ravening youths. Her bottom lip trembled, her mouth gaping open and shut uselessly like a landed trout's before finally forming the terrible words-
“There's nae chips.”
The news hit me like a physical blow. “Nae chips?”
“Naw,” she said, shaking her head slowly “Nae chips.” She gestured to a poster on the wall. “Healthy eating initiative”
And there it was, in black and white. Comic sans*, no less. 'Healthy Eating Initiative'. With diagrams to illustrate what foods should be eaten, and in what proportion. Most of them were green. Beside the pie chart of oppression hung a menu of today's choices- baked potato with tuna, or pasta with tomato sauce. Served with salad or vegetables. Vegetables!! Not a chip in sight.
This was years before Jamie Oliver's school food shenanigans, so I could only assume the new head master had acted on his own initiative. The new head was full of progressive ideas. Unfortunately his catchment area was a patch of central Scotland where nobody had been employed for thirty years, the children played tig with hatchets, and -critically- chips were the staple food.
“Haw!” I said, elbowing the lad behind me to get his attention, “there's nae chips!”
The rumour spread like wildfire up the queue.
“Nae chips!”
“Well, whit is there?”
“Fish, just”
“Whit, battered fish?”
“Naw just fish fish”
And so on until it reached the end and a voice piped up “Well, fuck that! Ah'm no hanging around for nae fish!”
Obviously this was the popular sentiment, because 500 ravening youths, moving as one, voted with their feet and poured out of the lunchroom, past the dumbfounded head master and his deputy (a battle-hardened brute of a PE teacher, who unlike the head had cultivated the cynicism needed to wrangle wee buggers like us). Me being the first in, I was the last out. As I passed I heard the deputy say to the head
“Ah told you no to take away the chips.” And as he bulldozed his way through the departing pupils, I swear I heard him add “You daft cunt” under his breath. Chips were re-instated the next day.
Length? The queue for the chip shop stretched all the way round the corner.
*Anything printed in comic sans is bound to be bad news. If comic sans had been invented 70 years earlier it would, without a doubt, have been the official font of the Third Reich.
(Wed 17th Nov 2010, 2:53, More)
» Unusual talents
I can
Stand on one leg for a long, long time. Without sticking my arms out for balance. I'm not sure how long, because when I tried to time it I got bored after the first hour. This is a totally useless talent, unless I ever get a job as a flamingo.
I can also breastfeed and hoover at the same time, which is really quite handy.
And I know a lady *cough* who can hide a can of Super Lager in her quim.
(Thu 18th Nov 2010, 19:18, More)
I can
Stand on one leg for a long, long time. Without sticking my arms out for balance. I'm not sure how long, because when I tried to time it I got bored after the first hour. This is a totally useless talent, unless I ever get a job as a flamingo.
I can also breastfeed and hoover at the same time, which is really quite handy.
And I know a lady *cough* who can hide a can of Super Lager in her quim.
(Thu 18th Nov 2010, 19:18, More)
» Nights Out Gone Wrong
Salmon. Nottingham.
Once, I went back to an acquaintances' house after running into him on a night out. He's a bit unhinged. 'I caught a fish the other day. It's in the sink. Can you gut it for me' says he and hands me a pocket knife encrusted in god knows what. So I went to the bathroom and there's a six pound salmon sat in the sink, and it's the most diseased, disgusting specimen I have ever seen and anyway it smells like fanny cheese. 'Fuck off, I'm not cutting that thing' 'Ach, you're maybe right. It's maybe been sitting a bit long. Chuck it out the window.' Not being one to pass on an opportunity (it's not every day you get to throw a fish from a first floor window) I heaved it. A wee while later we were sitting smoking, calmly enough, when out of the blue comes 'YOU CHUCKED MA FUCKIN FISH OUT THE WINDOW YA BASTARD!' as he lunged at me with a meat cleaver, missed, and fell down between the couch and wall bringing a stack of speakers down on top of himself.I escaped down the stairs and out into the street and there's the fish lying broken on the tarmac. 'Just goes to show you can't trust any cunt' I muttered. I think the salmon understood.
The most perplexing, troubling thing that happened to me on a night out, though, something that confuses me to this day, is when I woke up outside a train station in Nottingham at one in the morning. The last thing I remembered was being skint and miserable in my native Scotland, nearly 300 miles away, at pub chucking out time. How did I get 300 miles in three hours with no money. It's not possible. It doesn't make any sense.
(Wed 30th Mar 2011, 23:46, More)
Salmon. Nottingham.
Once, I went back to an acquaintances' house after running into him on a night out. He's a bit unhinged. 'I caught a fish the other day. It's in the sink. Can you gut it for me' says he and hands me a pocket knife encrusted in god knows what. So I went to the bathroom and there's a six pound salmon sat in the sink, and it's the most diseased, disgusting specimen I have ever seen and anyway it smells like fanny cheese. 'Fuck off, I'm not cutting that thing' 'Ach, you're maybe right. It's maybe been sitting a bit long. Chuck it out the window.' Not being one to pass on an opportunity (it's not every day you get to throw a fish from a first floor window) I heaved it. A wee while later we were sitting smoking, calmly enough, when out of the blue comes 'YOU CHUCKED MA FUCKIN FISH OUT THE WINDOW YA BASTARD!' as he lunged at me with a meat cleaver, missed, and fell down between the couch and wall bringing a stack of speakers down on top of himself.I escaped down the stairs and out into the street and there's the fish lying broken on the tarmac. 'Just goes to show you can't trust any cunt' I muttered. I think the salmon understood.
The most perplexing, troubling thing that happened to me on a night out, though, something that confuses me to this day, is when I woke up outside a train station in Nottingham at one in the morning. The last thing I remembered was being skint and miserable in my native Scotland, nearly 300 miles away, at pub chucking out time. How did I get 300 miles in three hours with no money. It's not possible. It doesn't make any sense.
(Wed 30th Mar 2011, 23:46, More)