I'm in no hurry. No Abbey today. I think I'll trash someone at table tennis. While I'm waiting. First three periods, Art and Music are a bit of a doss, first we get to show our immense artistic talent, then we get to wail out a few chords on our maestro keyboards. Like I said, I don't really have to be there on time.
Morning break:
Setting the clock forward gets us ten minutes extra parole. Teachers always fall for that. Famished. No queue outside the tuck-shop. A quid for just that lot? Extortion. Sod's Law. I'll just go socialise in the yard, check up with my informants in the other classes about the huge row earlier. Could be trouble ahead. I'd better get changed for PE.
Lunch break:
Basketball was great, me, Alex 'the Demon' Crosse and Antony 'Downtown' Doeh whipped four others and CD the Prof 28-4. It was awesome. Oops, late for lunch, can't miss the coach for Water. Great, mushroom ravioli, just what I need before a gruelling trip on the river. Yeah right. I'm going.
Pre Abbey:
Oh no! Late again! Going to miss Registration. Better find Mr Hamilton before going up Abbey. Up Abbey, 'up?' What basket case thought that up? Hi, Sir! Just making sure you know I'm here.
Post Abbey:
Think by now I've mastered the art of looking attentive. Gives me time to reach consciousness. Wonder what's next? Double Physics! A rude awakening. Trek to the Science Block, retrieve the books, drop the papers, scrabbling on the floor, shoelaces undone, here comes Eggy Spliff, my shirt's untucked - I hate Wednesdays.
From Science Block:
I've never been more intrigued in my life. Density! Wait a minute - this could be fun. More Fifth formers coming into the Science Block. Who shall we pick on to carry all the way back to School? Yes! You can always count on him.
Morning Break:
Uuuugh! Enshrouded in the mystic art of Mathematics - again. Let out ten minutes late. That's half our break. That's chief. Huge queues for the tuck shop. Just time to grab my books... It's still morning and I want to go home.
Lunch break:
Feeling queasy, that greasy cheese quiche has blown me away. Retreat back to Wren's and finish the two history essays due last week. Time for the nervous system to calm down. How time flies when you're having fun. Deus dat incrementum. Mustn't forget that. I've got to go.
To Science Block:
Uh - oh! Here come the Upper Shell and I'm heading for a world of hurt. Some guys go out of their way to ram you. It's only 2:30 and I really wanna go home.
Post School:
So my experiment blew up in my face and I got twelve in my test. I've got four preps, what happened to two? I'm so knackered I can't be bothered to go all the way home. Think I'll go play pool.
The island was a natural wonderland.
Birds lived there in their thousands.
Guillemots, razorbills, gannets in layers
along the sharp cliff edges,
With nests perched in rows in the
long horizontal cracks of the rock.
And puffins with their sandy network of
underground burrows.
Wild flowers in their colourful millions,
The pink campion and the purple knapweed
Grew deliciously in the Pembrokeshire sun
Among the windy grasses of the uneven
Campus.
Dusk fell.
The round Sun shone across the sky,
In orange, lilac and yellow.
The stratus and cirrus glowed
mysteriously,
As they hovered lightly in their layers.
While the luminous red ball sank into the blue,
The crescented cratered luna curve awoke,
Cutting her way up through the dead of night
Up into the starry, speckled sky.
The cry of the first shearwaters was heard
As they flocked to the island
After a stormy day at sea.
The shearwaters swarmed the island,
So graceful in flight,
Yet so clumsy, almost lame on land.
The slimy brown toads appeared
As if from nowhere.
They lay,
Still and sodden in the damp heather,
Making easy prey for famished gulls.
But then, during a routine
Milford Haven transfer,
The Sea Empress runs aground,
The massive tanker shitting
Hundreds of thousands of tons of thick
Oil into the precious sea.
Over the next few days,
It is left to disperse and enter the ecosystem,
Poisoning the food chain, piece by piece.
People loaf around while
The thick black sludge
Pollutes the plankton
And obliterates the birds,
Glueing together their well-preened feathers.
Tides carry the toxic waste up and down the coast,
Dumping it on beaches,
Their salty tide marks blackening by the hour.
On the cliffs of Skomer
The dotted rocks of dry bird droppings
Are plastered up,
And thick, dark clouds form in the sky,
Looming heavily over the dull waters.
Under the moonlit shadows of the Alhambra'sOliver Marre (Busby's)
Minarets, I stumble on a shabby neon-lit cafe.
Screwed to its peeling blood-red walls
Above the pallid faces of its customers
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight,
A flickering screen.The heroic matador sweeps his bloody cape
Then plunges sword up to its silver hilt.
The customers cheer and pound their iron tables
Watching the great bull twist and totter,
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight
On the flickering screen.The cards come out and cigarettes are lit.
The coffee cups with blood-red lipstick stains
Are gathered by a massive moustached waiter.
The portly matador displays two severed ears
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight
Within the flickering screen. Tired cheers ring out and old men yawn
Beneath the red-striped awning and the bulbs
That burn fantastic shapes into my eyes.
Out on the street some beggar calls for alms
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight
Beneath the flickering screen.The bull's dragged out by grimfaced toreadors
Across the blood-stained sand of the arena.
Chairs and table scrape as customers leave
And the proprietor prepares to chain the door.
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight
Beside the flickering screen.As the café lights are dimmed and waiters
Pour out Pernod for their night's reward,
The next bull enters, but the programme's switched
to football: Saragossa v Real Madrid
(While gypsies sing fandangos in the night)
Common practice, common sight
On the flickering screen.
Sweet Jesus carved in jade, offered
In a market squareWorth more than I could afford to pay
Must I leave you lying there?Yet if I could find the money
To take you home with meWhere could I put you, Jesus
What would you mean to me?Where could I keep your statue
So the brightness would not fadeFor my home is simply furnished
And I have no place for jadeShould I stand you, gentle Jesus
In a corner of my roomNear to Christ carved in olive
Brought from Jerusalem?Though jade is smooth and sensuous
Its surface hard and pureMy Jesus from the Holy Land
Is worth a great deal moreSo I leave you, patient Jesus
Honed from a flowing stoneIn a bustle of the market place
You need not feel alone
I met love once
when I was looking
the other wayI heard the sound
of a wheelchair
smooth
on polished woodsaw the tired
gentle faces of
the parentsthe smiles
of the handicapped
sonI know it was
love -
felt uplifted
inspired
I walked through a timeless garden
When the summer sun was high
Strolled on the lawns leading down
To the lake
Under a brilliant sky
And I felt the presence of unknown lives
From centuries gone byI stood in the rain-filled garden
When the clouds were misty grey
Breathed in the energy of trees
On a green and silver day
And I listened to voices I could not hear
Inviting me to stayNow I walk in the peaceful garden
Alone with my fantasy
My longing to know what cannot
Be known
To see what I cannot see
And the ghosts of the garden drifting past.
Are they aware of me?
In Canterbury, there is a house
Which overlooks the Dover road;
And shudders to the nightly noise
Of traffic on the harbour trade.Through nicotine-stained night, the freight
Comes down by lorry to the bay,
Where hulking cargo ships lie greyly
Dormant round the headland quay.And darkened miles about the berth,
The grimy trailers heading south,
Cross bands of jaundiced light from cafés
Selling chips in trucky lay-bys.Some nights, my mouth tastes strong of salt;
A salty stream tides through my nose,
And in my mouth an awful sea
Whose brackish waters darkly rise.