also...
Cold morning, 'bout minus 5 decrees. You're shoved outside in a fecking polo shirt and shorts and made to play rounders. You grasp the bat in your hands the bitter wind slapping you hard in the face and your team mate throws the ball. A cricket ball. You swing as hard as you can miss the fucker and it smacks you right on your knuckles. Your cold stiff knuckles. No wonder we preferred to shut ourselves in a cubical for an hour and a half to sit on a pissy floor next to an overflowing sanny-bin.
PE, what a load of bollocks
(shezam slouching towards nirvana., Tue 24 Apr 2012, 0:19, Reply)