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Wednesday 6th March

Freezing and raining again. Boggo said there’s snow on the Drakensberg.

Because of the weather, Adventure Club consisted of a rope-tying class and a safety lecture on lightning. Mr Hall said that a total of eleven boys have died from lightning strikes since the Second World War. Fatty looked wickedly impressed with this piece of school trivia and made a note.

Sparerib called me into his office after prep and asked me if I was okay. I told him I was fine. He obviously didn’t believe me because he then asked me if there was trouble at home. I told him there was nothing wrong.

Why is it that everyone can be as mad as they like, but the moment I have a bad day I’m hauled into Sparerib’s office for the Spanish Inquisition?

Thursday 7th March

Vern announced that today is Roger’s birthday and dressed him up in his orange birthday jersey. We all shook his paw and congratulated the cat on his fourth birthday. Roger looked quite chuffed with the attention and pranced around on Vern’s locker purring loudly and head-butting things.

Saw The Guv outside the dining hall and he asked me if I was all right. I nodded and told him I was late for a meeting.

18:00 Rambo and Mad Dog threw Roger into the fountain. Vern was horrified and at one stage looked like he wanted to punch Mad Dog. Rambo sat Vern down at dinner and explained that if Roger wants to be a member of the Crazy Eight then he has to have a birthday present. Vern eventually nodded in agreement, stuffed a lamb chop in his top pocket and raced off to find the cat.

Friday 8th March

Still cold and wet. All sport (apart from squash) has been cancelled for the weekend.

Sunday 10th March

Spent the weekend sleeping and finished reading Nineteen Eighty-Four. I can see why Dad’s so scared of communists.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me – my nipples are so sore. If I touch my chest I yelp in pain. It’s been getting worse all week. I wonder if I’m dying? If Gecko were here he would tell me exactly what is wrong with me.

Monday 11th March

17:00 Death Breath pushed me out of the shower. He said I was using all the hot water up. The moment he touched my chest I screamed out in pain. Death Breath thought I was taking the piss so he tried to shove his Colgate shampoo bottle up my bum. I galloped out of the showers, trying to cover my nipples with one hand and protecting my backside with the other.

My shower revealed two things: the first is that my nipples are getting worse. The second is that Death Breath is most probably a pervert or a homo. (Or both.)

Tried to watch The Bold and The Beautiful before supper but I kept thinking about my chest. Can a boy of fourteen (nearly fifteen) get breast cancer?

I summoned up the courage and told Boggo about my nipple problem on the way to dinner. He said it sounded serious and that I should get help. Boggo then told everyone at the table that my nipples were infected. Rambo said I was going to grow big gazoombies like Dolly Parton. Mad Dog said that I might become a transvestite and grow female genitals. Then Fatty said that he had heard of a freak from Colorado whose breasts grew so big that they exploded and killed him. By now I was in a complete panic and decided that the problem was bad enough to take to Sister Collins. I pushed my sausage and mash aside and left. I could hear sniggers behind me, and the sound of Fatty scraping my food onto his plate.



I rang the bell at the san. Sister Collins flung the door open with a mouth full of food. Once she had finally swallowed her mouthful of sausage, she said, ‘Right, young man, is this a case of grave illness or have you got a test tomorrow?’ I told her I could be at death’s door and that I most probably had breast cancer. She let rip with a great hacking laugh and told me to take my shirt off and sit on the examination bed. She then looked in my ears, down my throat and told me to say Ahhhh. She touched my left nipple and I yelped and jumped back. Then she told me to put my shirt back on and join her in her study. She sat me down and poured herself a whisky and lit a cigarette.

‘Your condition is serious and I’m afraid irreversible,’ she said before taking a swig of whisky. ‘This disease is impossible to cure and it will sentence you to a life of pain, anguish and perversion.’ I felt vomit rising in my throat.

I’m going to die like Gecko!

Sister Collins sighed and looked at me with a stern face. Suddenly she broke into a huge grin and said, ‘I would look for a new nickname if I were you – your days of being a spud are numbered.’

I felt the blood rush to my face and managed to stammer out, ‘What?’ in a very high-pitched squeak.

Then Sister Collins said, ‘Your mysterious killer disease is called puberty. This is the first stage. The second stage is pubic hair and the third is the ball drop. Now back to prep with you before I get all emotional.’

I raced back to the house skipping with glee and investigated myself thoroughly in the toilet. I couldn’t really see anything and had to call off the examination because Vern kept banging on the toilet door and saying ‘Oi!’ Luckily I left when I did because he was already scribbling me a warning letter for bad form in the bogs and surrounds.

21:30 I called the Crazy Eight to my cubicle and announced that I was soon to be a spud no more. Everyone laughed and shook my hand. Mad Dog said he was relieved I wasn’t becoming a transvestite because then he’d be forced to nail a stake through my heart. Vern shook my hand and then made me shake Roger’s paw and Potato’s amputated limb, which he keeps with his toiletries. Vern has hidden the rest of Potato from Mad Dog for fear of further amputations.

Tuesday 12th March

Woke up feeling the best I have in weeks. I definitely felt more rugged and manly in the showers and I’m working on a new macho swagger in my walk.

Lunch with The Guv was a ripper. We got into a long discussion about Nineteen Eighty-Four and George Orwell. The Guv said the book was an attack on power, corruption and something called ‘totally terrorism’ which means a dictatorship. In the book the hero is forced to confront his worst fear in a torture room called Room 101. His worst fear is rats. The Guv said I must read Orwell’s Animal Farm next, which is all about farmyard animals rising up and taking over the farm. Sounds pretty bizarre.

He asked me why I’ve been so depressed lately. I told him it was because of the Mermaid. I told him about the blonde surfer guy in the Volkswagen Golf. The Guv clutched his chest and cried, ‘The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables!’ He then told me to go on. When I told him I was at last hitting puberty he shouted, ‘Hurrah and huzzah!’ raced to the wine rack and cracked open a twenty-one-year-old bottle of wine.

After finishing his second bottle The Guv started slurring badly and moaning about his wife leaving him empty and destitute. He then turned to me and said, ‘By God, that Mermaid’s mother has a proud pair of knockers.’ He then passed out in his rocking chair with a naughty grin on his face.


Date: 2015-12-17; view: 640


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