SUTLS

Today, I got up quite early, even though it's half term. I wanted to go to the shops before town got too busy. As is often the case before nine in the morning, a tramp with fully intact clothes was staggering in circles around the square, staring at the sky. Sometimes he looks at the floor, but it was a nice day and he was obviously treating himself.

I bought two pairs of trousers and two pairs of shorts. I'm not really thin enough to fit into any of them comfortably. I bought them because I hope one day I will be, but it never really works out like that.

The other week, I was eating popcorn and cracked a back tooth on one of the kernels. It was not pleasant and has been hurting ever since. However, I only just managed to register with a dentist yesterday. I rang round lots of places and the NHS is not interested in me, so i had little choice but to go private. As with many things in life, my final decision on which dentist i went with was based on ghostbusters. The one I chose was called Ackroyd.

I got on the bus to go there and was faced with a tough decision. There were no entirley spare seats and I had to sit next to someone. In this scenario, you only have the walk to the back of the bus to make up your mind and you can't tell if someone is a Venkman just by looking at them. There were a lot of fat people on this bus spilling out onto the seat next to them. Also, this bus goes past a mental home, so there were one or two of them, as well the tramp that I recognised from town this morning and a strong smell of armpits. This was like Russian roulette and I had to make a decision before I was sat with the badmen on the backrow. I threw myself down next to a hippy. She smelt of armpits.

The tramp infront couldn't look at things. His eyes were not focused and moved seperately. A mile or so later, he got up to leave. You could hear the gasps around the bus, for he had no back to his trousers and he was not wearing any underwear. Nobody quite knew wear to look. When he got off the bus, I noticed his eyes change as he had a moment of clarity; he seemed to panic when he noticed his flies were undone. All embarrassed, he zipped himself up and shuffled off.

I'm trying to think of what circumstances would lead to a pair of trousers getting like that, but it's hard.

At the dentist, I got told off for eating too many sweets and fizzy drinks. I've always had good teeth, but not today - I have to come back next week for a couple of fillings. On top of this, the cracked bit of tooth is floating around in my gum somewhere, which makes me a bit sick to think of.

The dentist told me how things were and I tried to claim I ate healthily all the time, but he'd just stabbed, scraped and x-rayed the evidence and saw straight through my web of deceit. I leaned over the back of the big dentist chair chewing my top lip and frowning as he called me out. It was the reaction of a small child. I knew the truth and so did he and I fully deserved being talked to like an idiot and the £166 bill I received.

I also knew Ackroyd was not going to be dressed in a boiler suit and I knew he was not going to cross the streamers on my teeth before dragging the bad one into a light trap. But deep down, it hadn't stopped me hoping.

I picked up a bottle of water before getting on the bus. On the way home I sat drinking it in a sulk. It didn't taste of anything.

Yesterday, I woke up at 6.43. I got up, cleaned my teeth, sorted my hair out, washed my face, used some deoderant and left the house. Someone has written "cock spray" in big permanent marker letters on the deodorant, but i still have to use it as it's the only one there. I wasn't fooled into using it for anything other than its original purpose though. Sometimes, I do nearly brush my teeth with shaving foam.

I left the house and it was very cold.I dodged past the german christmas market, which smelled of yesterdays grease and made me a bit sick, and walked to the bus stop.

Recently, we have lots of different people giving out the metro. The last one was great. I came to think of him as my guardian angel - he always said hello and wished me a nice day. If a tram was on it's way down the road, he'd warn me. Likewise if the weather was going to take a turn for the worse, he would let me know. Then one day, he wasn't there. Maybe he thought that he had taught me all he could and moved on. Maybe there's someone somewhere that needs him more. Maybe he just decided it was a terrible job having to get up early and stand on the freezing streets of nottingham at half 6 giving papers out to mardy tired people every day. Who knows. The new guy is very non descript. He just gave me a metro. That's it.

The bus driver was the one that barks at everyone. When you get on the bus, he goes "ahhhh" and when you give him the money, he goes "taaaa". He gets louder and higher as the syllable goes on. I used to hate it, but now I'm buzzing. If I'm at the back of a queue of people getting on, as I was today, I always have the giggles by the time I have to interact with him. I have never heard him communicate in a different way in all the time he's been driving the bus.

School was average. I only had three lessons and with it being close to the end of term, I did nothing constructive in my free periods. At one point, one of my tutees threw a skip at me (a crisp, not a large bin. she's only small). I ordered her to pick it up. It took some persuasion, but she did. Then, ten minutes later, I find said skip with a smiley face drawn on sitting on my desk. In other words, I found an act of war.

I gave the skip to the girl's best friend and made her pass it on when she next saw her. Then the skip turned up on my desk again. I gave it to our student service help desk, who sent a message to the girl in class that said she had to come down there at once. This normally means theyre in trouble. When she got down, she was handed a skip. Twenty minutes later, the skip was in my tray next to student services. So I went into the school computer system, found out the girls home address and mailed the skip (now in three pieces) to her.

I hope I don't get it back, because I have run out of amazing and clever things to do with it.

I also had a microsoft paint drawing contest with one of my 6th formers. Last week, I won. The title was "egg cup". Once loads of teachers had marked them, mine scored an average of 9. Hers got 3.5. This week, in "parrot", I got 9, she got 8.9. Turns out she cheated too and downloaded something of the internet. In conclusion, I am awesome.

In no particular order, I did these things too: swore at my year 11s, ate some chips, put some data in the computer, taught a class how to write their name in Japanese and drank a strawberry milkshake.

After school, I went to Sheffield to watch Slipknot. Support bands were Children of Bodom and Machine Head. Largely, I hate metal music and had no interest in these, so we went up fairly late. Poor old Withers, who is metal to the very core, had to go up by himself in order to watch all the bands. When we met him in the arena, we were greeted with metal horns and massive two pint drink (called a gint, with a soft g), held aloft.

This is the thing about metallers. There is no irony. The metal horns are a legitimate form of communication. Greasy long hair is not unnatractive and dirty. Stupid beards are a status symbol and black, baggy clothes are in fashion. Metallers are also incapable of change (hence why there are so many middle aged people who still act and dress like that) and they are also unable to accept other forms of music.

I was the least metal person there. My floppy fringe, coloured, fitting clothes and big black glasses could have got me eaten, but people were all there for just two things: to take their tops off whilst beating each other up and to cheer every time they heard the word fuck. Thus, I went largely unnoticed. With Rowan being on crutches, him and I exchanged our standing tickets for seated ones and sat down to watch the spectacle. It was a good show and I enjoyed it, though was disappointed not to have heard more singles. I think having that opinion is also frowned upon by metallers. They pretend they like the obscure album thrash tunes, not the ones with melodies that everyboy's heard of, but I'm on to them.

As we left, most people were still half naked and sweating, walking in circles and undefined lines around things whilst grunting and clenching their fists. Every now and then, one would shout 'Slipknot!' or thrust their middle finger at something (sometimes an authorative object, such as an instructional sign or a parking attendant, sometimes just randonmly). That's another thing, metallers hate authority. You just cannot tell them what to do.

On the way home, Pete was drunk. He mumbled something about "pissing in your shit face" to Joe before lighting a cigarette and smoking it out the window whilst we all coughed. We got home at about midnight at which point i played left 4 dead for half an hour before going to sleep.

My favourite slipknot is cock nose.

Today, I woke up at 8.30 and went for a run. It was long and I got tired. When I got home, I stripped off to my shorts and lay in an empty bath for ten minutes. This is because the bath was cool and because I didn't want to get sweat anywhere else. There was a lot of it. When I climbed out, I decided to go to the gym. I go here a lot but have yet to lift a single weight. Instead, I use the sauna, steam room, jacuzzi and sometimes the swimming pool.

This gym is good because it is small and quiet. I used to go to a virgin gym and all the muscle boys looked at me funny when I strolled around like I was Corey Feldman. My big shorts and inappropriate t shirts gave away the fact I'm not really into shouting at people in a manly fashion whilst I try and lift physically impossible things. If you time it right at this place, you can normally have it to yourself. Unfortunately, I didn't realise today was Dawn of the Dead.

I walked into the pool room to be confronted by an old woman's swimcercise class. They all looked pathetic and stupid and made me angry just for being there. I stopped in my tracks as they all turned round and stared at me with a look that fell somewhere between suspicion and what looked like actual hatred. I shrugged at them (not sure why) and went to the steam room instead.

After my run, I wanted nothing more than to lie down across the seats and relax. I realised that the bench would be covered in other people's sweat, but I am only hygienic to a point so I decided to go for it. Five minute later, when I sat up, I saw a big black pube on my arm and regretted my decision. Sickened, I moved on to the sauna.

Upon entering, an explanation was sat in front of me: Pube Man. This blog is family orientated so I will not go into why he is called this, though I'm sure you could have a reasonable guess. He left instantly, maybe in a state of embarrassment. He probably sensed exactly what had happened - I'm sure everyone that attends that gym has had one of his pubes on them at some point. I watched him move to the jacuzzi and made a mental note not to go in there. The image of the cocktail that would be bubbling around in it the minute he stepped in made me shudder violently. This did mean I had the room to myself though. Sharing a sauna with someone is like going in a lift with them and I don't like it. I have also had bad experiences. Here is one example...

A few years ago, I was slumped in a sauna, resting my chin on my chest and picking my belly button with my locker key. A man entered in a flamboyant fashion (ie a mince), looked at me and said "ooooh, do you need a hand with that!". I think it's safe to assume he was gay - when I picture the scene he walked in on, it can't have been alluring enough to give a straight man a curious moment. In actual fact, it must have been a bit repulsive. I declined his offer, but didnt want to leave immediately, despite that being my first instinct. I didn't know whether that would be seen as an act of rudeness or homophobia. Even though there was lots of room, he came and sat right next to me. The next minute was one of the most uncomfortable of my life as I turned my head away from him (incase he was staring or winking at me) and concentrated hard on not doing anything that might inititate a conversation. In the end, I ran away. This was at the YMCA gym and was not the first such instance.

Just then, back in the present day, I noticed the old women were finishing in the pool and dragging themselves out. I did not want any of them joining me, so thought quickly. When it is really warm outside, I often see old people blowing on themselves or waving their hands in front of their face. They obviously don't like to be uncomfortably hot so I threw as much water on the heater as possible in order to warn them off. They wandered around the edge of the pool in a directionless manner, bumping into one another. Someone did approach the sauna and swiped at the door handle haphazardly. They missed and their hand squelched on the glass and slid down, leaving a watery stain. Deterred, the lady shambled off. After a couple of minutes, the frenzy died down and everyone slowly dissipated. By this point, the sauna was far too hot, so I left.

In the changing room, Pube Man was in the shower. I stared intently at the ceiling and went straight to my locker, banging into the wall more than once.

After this, I went to the library to print some stuff off. On the way I saw a proper hunchback.

The library used to be an exciting multicultural hub - like mos eisley in star wars. Things have changed recently though and now everyone there is Polish. I am allowed to be racist toward Poles because I am part polish; this is one better than having a Polish friend. I was annoyed because they were all in front of me in the help desk queue asking stupid questions that could not be understood and if they could, were no doubt so straightforward that anybody who had ever been out their house before should not actually need help with. This made them take ages. I had to sign up, get a new library card and book a computer, which I eventually did. However, when I sat down at the computer my password didn't work, so i went straight back to the help desk to queue up behind a fresh line of Polish people. There was an English woman behind me, muttering to nobody about how slow the queue was and chanting "come on, come on hurry up." I instantly hated her with a passion.

She walked off in a huff and I saw her sit at my computer. It was booked under my obviously Polish name and the screen said so. I saw her fling her head back before stomping over to the queue again. Rather than waiting, she stopped a passing employee and said "Excuse me! I'm trying to use that computer over there but some Pole has wandered off and left it, so I can't". I turned round and said, in my poshest english accent, "why, I believe that's mine and I've only left it because I have a problem with my password. That is why I am currently queueing up." She shook her fat face, made a sound like a horse and then stormed off. I was glad I made my point because what I really wanted to say was "that's mine you fucking whale, get in the queue like everyone else and book one for yourself". I sorted my stuff out and then went back home. No hunchbacks.

Today, I woke up at 9am French time. The weather was overcast and rainy and for once, it made the temperature cool. This was nice for trying to sleep. I cleaned my teeth and washed before heading downstairs and doing not much of anything for a little while. I like having nothing to do. I know some people get bored, but most of the time I seem to be busy so I appreciate times where I can do nothing but stare at flypaper and be half impressed and half repulsed, even if this is supposedly a sign of depression.

My Auntie Helen and her husband Tony had stayed overnight en route to somewhere else in France. I find it hard to refer to Tony as my uncle as he's only been like that for a couple of years and isn't that much older than me. It has nothing to do with hatred. Dad and Tony had decided to go fishing so made my Mum go and pick up some maggots when she went for croissants. My Dad came up with this hilarious joke - to hand Tony a stack of plates to put round the breakfast table with maggots squirming around on the second tier. He found himself hilarious but as usual, my mum was not impressed with his antics. Tony found the maggots, was slightly surprised and laughed a bit. But that was only half my Dad's joke. He then proceeded to mind game Tony.

"Would you like a croissant Tony... have that one there. No, not that one, the one next to it". Again, Tony laughed nervously. He was then offered very specific pots of jam, cups of coffee etc, the implication being that they were all teeming with maggots. The problem is, you can never quite be sure with My Dad and Tony ate breakfast in a state of nervous awareness. There was nothing actually there, which made My Dad proud and smug.

Helen is Dad's sister and about 15 years his junior. She knows his tricks and shared a tale from their childhood that goes like this: One April Fool, my dad tied a flag in a lavender tree in their garden. That was it. Only Helen was very young and always has been an easy target. The trick progressed in a way nearly only my Father would devise and then find amusing.

"Helen, there's a flag in the lavender tree"
"No there's not. You're April Fooling me."
"Ah, ok, if you're sure. But supposing there actually IS a flag in the lavender tree, you would actually have just made yourself a fool with that decision."
Helen told us that she was young enough to actually be concerned about being considered a fool, so walked towards the window. My Dad let her get nearly there before casually saying, "But of course...". Helen stopped in her tracks. "...If, as you originally suspected, there is no flag, then in a few seconds you will be an April Fool."

This game of cat and mouse continued for about half an hour until Helen broke down in tears screaming on the floor and my Gran (their mother) was forced to run into the room to see what the fuss was about. Of course, the fact that there was a flag in the tree became redundant. But the genius of it was, that my Dad had actaully made the effort to go outside and put one ther. Even better than that was that if you consider that he is 15 years older than her and that Helen actually remembers this, that would have made him around 19. There are only 4 other people in the world capable of this kind of thing. 3 of them are my brothers. I'm the last one, and thinking about it now, this fact makes me a bit sad.

Eventually, Dad and Tony went fishing. Fish are rank and if I'm going to do nothing, I'll do it properly - not under the pretense I'm taking part in some kind of sporting activity. Thusly, I opted out. After a while though, I decided to run to the pond, 3.75 miles away, just to irritate them. When I got there, I kept giving my dad useless tips and telling jokes about fish and fishing. Fish kept jumping out the water in the centre of the pond, so in my wisdom, I told dad to watch for them, then throw the floating plastic device on his string to where he'd just seen one land. this meant he actually knew there'd be one around, as there clearly weren't any where he was. He gritted his teeth, but 2 minutes later my hilarious exclamation that motor pike and side carp were the fastest fish in the world gave me the response I was after; he lost his temper and told me to shut up. Then I changed tact and began commenting on his ongoing lack of success. I was totally buzzing of myself, but he was glad when I eventually left. However, this didn't happen with out an appearance from Mong Utan.

I'd heard the legends before. My dad told me he lived in the woods around the pond and came out to either fish or annoy fishermen. His arms are an awful lot longer than they should be (like an Orang Utan) and he is retarded. I wondered whether he was communicating in French, but my parents assured me that it wasn't and that he was just simple. With him standing next to me and making me feel slightly uneasy, Dad just turned round and said, right in front of him. "Have you checked out the size of his arms?". Mong Utan started chanting something, then ran off to some other fishermen. One of my favourite things in life is watching people with stupid runs. Normally, I don't target people who I suspect of being mentally handicapped, but he WAS funny and he looked so happy that I didn't feel bad for thinking this. When he stopped, I then watched him reach out about 6 metres into the pond and catch a fish with his bare hands, before barking like a dog in the face of the permit checker.

The permit checker then came over to us and said things I didn't understand. Dad grinned and in his best smug face said "avec pleasure". That is my Dad's humour again for you.

On the way home, I got out the car and tried to take a spy photo of mong utan next to the permit checker. When the flash went off, they erupted in French, the only words of which I could understand were "photo" and "flash". Assuming these have the same meaning in English, I realised they were onto me. I ran away before jumping into the car and instructing them to drive home quickly.

Dad caught three fish. Every one was smaller than his hand. Tony caught none.

Today, I woke up at two different times because I am in France. One time was english and this was 9.30 am. The other was French: 10.30 am. I have been here about 5 days and I am still unsure about which time to go by. I tend to flicker between the two as and when it suits me.

I cleaned my teeth and wandered downstairs. Despite the fact this was a sleep in for me (no matter which time zone i go by) I was still tired. There is one reason for this - loir loirs. They are French rodents that live in trees by day and roofs by night. They make the transition by jumping from one to the other whilst I'm trying to sleep. This makes a loud noise. Then they squeak and race each other round the loft. According to someone who stopped by the house today, their eyes are so attuned to the dark that if you turn any lights on while theyre around, they freeze and their pupils widen over the whole of their eyeballs. This has made me think of two plans:

1) Find out where they live and wake them up in broad daylight. Then run in circles around them so they can't sleep.
2) Go into the attic with a torch. When they invade, shine it on them, then kick them in the face one by one.

In all likelihood, Ill do neither and just get woken up again tonight. A bit because I can't be bothered and a bit because I haven't entirely ruled out the chance it cold be the Blair Witch.

I went downstairs and sat at the table, doing some work. I then got emailed a news story about a space bear who, in a fit of greed, ate a whole jar of sweets. Only the jar got stuck on his head so the police shot him, thinking he was from outer space. I have a habit of changing stories in my mind to make them better and i think this is one of those times. It might have been a tub of popcorn. Either way, I spent the following ten minutes drawing a picture of this before giving up and eating a ham sandwich. This was because it was lunch in France time. An hour later, I had another one.

I sat outside in the sun for a bit watching lizards zipping around the walls. Unlike other French animals, they run pretty silently so it's a pity I wasn't trying to sleep. Mum and Dad's friend came round and told us about a local who got a "tick on his todger". He died. His obituary must have been funny, not that I'd have understood it. I know how to order a croque monsiuer and a return ticket to Paris in French, but I don't know the French for tick or todger.

I have never bought a croque monsiuer or a return ticket to Paris.

In the evening, I went for a run. Round here, there's nothing but woods and hills. It was also nearly 30 degrees so if I felt unfit in England, I felt doubly so here. I ran for just over 3 miles before stopping to walk after I'd gone up a huge steep hill. I felt dizzy and thirsty as I zig zagged past a French family having a barbecue in their front garden, or jardin. They shouted something at me but I just became anxious and confused. They didn't want a croque monsiuer or a return ticket to Paris and I'm sure "run Forest, run!" is the same in any language, so I had no idea what they were banging on about. Crucially, I also didn't know how to respond except to turn up my headphones and run away. As it happens, that's exactly what I did.

Eventually, after almost 5 miles, Mum and Dad came past and picked me up. We drove to a lake where I went for a swim around an island there. This took about 15 minutes and was very refreshing. Between the car and the water (and back again), I was careful to avoid todger high grass. I think this will probably be a life rule from now on.

When we got home, we ate dinner and got attacked by probably the biggest moth I've ever seen. I'm not usually scared by these, but this one was about the size of my hand. Mum ran off screaming. I tried to remain calm, but it swooped and attacked me. It actually punched me in the face and I shrieked like a small girl before scrambling upstairs on all fours. I composed myself and went back downstairs to get rid of it. It was nowhere to be seen, so i crept very carefully. Mum yelled and I ran again. Apparently, it ambushed me and punched me in the back of the head, though fortunately I didn't feel it.

I picked up a huge pair of gardening shears and as it charged me from across the kitchen I started snapping at it. We actually circled each other, but it had the advantage being able to move across three dimensions. Although I came close with the shears, I realised that this was going to take time I didn't have, giving him the advantage. Whilst Mothra and I were locked in our tango of death, Mum was still cowering behind the stair railing, squealing during tense parts of the battle

Then Dad told me to turn all the lights off except for the outside one, so I did and it left. And that's all that has happened today so far.