although it must be said that I was facing a bowler who looked suspiciously like a girl, and I lost count of how many times I survived dropped catches. By this stage Mom and Dad were well past sozzled and entered the terrifying realm of drunk and disorderly. Then Dad began singing rude songs in a loud voice about Sparerib and Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade. It was a relief when I was finally bowled for 57 because at least the madman standing on the pitch roller ceased his loud and slanderous musical tirade against the school staff.
Even Mr Ashleigh-Meyer was impressed with my day’s work and told me I was the most talented cricketer he’d ever coached. He then seemed to lose interest in what he was saying, lit up a Chesterfield and sauntered off in the general direction of the staff room.
Sunday 8th March
Simon was beside himself about a brilliant run out by Jonty Rhodes in South Africa’s World Cup match against Pakistan this morning. He tried to demonstrate the missile-like dive but ended up grazing his knee and looking like an idiot. The good news is that we won the match and look a good bet for a spot in the semi-finals.
Fatty, Boggo, Garlic, Vern and I set off to the fields with our golf bags while Simon and Rambo marched off in the opposite direction because they said they didn’t want to hang around with hackers.
Boggo elected himself the group’s golf pro and gave us a thorough coaching clinic on swinging the club properly. Unfortunately, when it came down to actually hitting the ball, Boggo was worse than everyone except Vern.
Golf has to be the most frustrating game in the world. You can hit the ball perfectly with one shot and then with an identical swing the next shot can be an embarrassing disaster. Fatty hit one ball so far that it sailed over the field and landed on the tennis court, nearly killing Rowdy and Plump Graham who had just begun knocking up for a set of tennis. The rest of Fatty’s shots either scuttled along the ground or ducked off viciously to the left. Vern’s golf is embarrassingly poor. He seemed to miss the ball more times than he actually hit it. Garlic got the ball up in the air every time but it never travelled further than he could throw it.
After practice we caught up with Simon and Rambo who were hitting balls at the far end of Trafalgar. Simon’s golf looks nearly as good as his batting. All his shots ended up in a tight circle and he never seemed to make an error. Rambo hits the ball miles but nearly falls over in the process because he’s trying to thrash it so hard.
I must admit that hitting a great golf shot is one of the most splendid feelings I’ve ever experienced. Unfortunately, I only felt it once.
Monday 9th March
00:30 Fatty stubbed his toe on the corner of my locker on his way back from the bogs. He screamed with pain and said that his toenail was loose. He wailed on in agony and only shut up when Boggo gave him four aspirin and a sleeping tablet, which Boggo later conceded may have been one aspirin and four sleeping tablets. Fatty passed out almost immediately.
Unfortunately, then I couldn’t sleep. The realisation struck me that in a mere nineteen months I will leave this place forever and be truly free. The thought was terrifying.
13:00 Fatty’s toenail is hanging by a thread. He was in so much pain that Garlic and I had to help him to the san after lunch. Unfortunately, Red Tape was on sanatorium assistant duty and his eyes lit up when he saw Fatty in distress. It’s a known fact that Red Tape returned for post matric just so that he could torment more sick and injured boys. Fatty groaned as he realised who was on duty and looked around desperately for the san sister. No doubt he was reliving the moment Red Tape took great pleasure in sending Fatty off to athletics trials last year despite his having a peptic heart murmur.
FATTY Where’s the san sister?
RED TAPE She crept up your arse! Who cares anyway? Red Tape’s in charge around
Even Mr Ashleigh-Meyer was impressed with my day’s work and told me I was the most talented cricketer he’d ever coached. He then seemed to lose interest in what he was saying, lit up a Chesterfield and sauntered off in the general direction of the staff room.
Sunday 8th March
Simon was beside himself about a brilliant run out by Jonty Rhodes in South Africa’s World Cup match against Pakistan this morning. He tried to demonstrate the missile-like dive but ended up grazing his knee and looking like an idiot. The good news is that we won the match and look a good bet for a spot in the semi-finals.
Fatty, Boggo, Garlic, Vern and I set off to the fields with our golf bags while Simon and Rambo marched off in the opposite direction because they said they didn’t want to hang around with hackers.
Boggo elected himself the group’s golf pro and gave us a thorough coaching clinic on swinging the club properly. Unfortunately, when it came down to actually hitting the ball, Boggo was worse than everyone except Vern.
Golf has to be the most frustrating game in the world. You can hit the ball perfectly with one shot and then with an identical swing the next shot can be an embarrassing disaster. Fatty hit one ball so far that it sailed over the field and landed on the tennis court, nearly killing Rowdy and Plump Graham who had just begun knocking up for a set of tennis. The rest of Fatty’s shots either scuttled along the ground or ducked off viciously to the left. Vern’s golf is embarrassingly poor. He seemed to miss the ball more times than he actually hit it. Garlic got the ball up in the air every time but it never travelled further than he could throw it.
After practice we caught up with Simon and Rambo who were hitting balls at the far end of Trafalgar. Simon’s golf looks nearly as good as his batting. All his shots ended up in a tight circle and he never seemed to make an error. Rambo hits the ball miles but nearly falls over in the process because he’s trying to thrash it so hard.
I must admit that hitting a great golf shot is one of the most splendid feelings I’ve ever experienced. Unfortunately, I only felt it once.
Monday 9th March
00:30 Fatty stubbed his toe on the corner of my locker on his way back from the bogs. He screamed with pain and said that his toenail was loose. He wailed on in agony and only shut up when Boggo gave him four aspirin and a sleeping tablet, which Boggo later conceded may have been one aspirin and four sleeping tablets. Fatty passed out almost immediately.
Unfortunately, then I couldn’t sleep. The realisation struck me that in a mere nineteen months I will leave this place forever and be truly free. The thought was terrifying.
13:00 Fatty’s toenail is hanging by a thread. He was in so much pain that Garlic and I had to help him to the san after lunch. Unfortunately, Red Tape was on sanatorium assistant duty and his eyes lit up when he saw Fatty in distress. It’s a known fact that Red Tape returned for post matric just so that he could torment more sick and injured boys. Fatty groaned as he realised who was on duty and looked around desperately for the san sister. No doubt he was reliving the moment Red Tape took great pleasure in sending Fatty off to athletics trials last year despite his having a peptic heart murmur.
FATTY Where’s the san sister?
RED TAPE She crept up your arse! Who cares anyway? Red Tape’s in charge around
Similar Books
