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BulldogI always thought that the reasoning of it was pretty pathetic but no one ever commented on that. It was a standard tradition that had gone on for years, and probably the most epic sight I shall ever see in my lifetime.You see, our common room had just two sofas and they were positioned nicely in front of the TV, with easy access to the old-school games console. A throne for sixth form royalty. Im told that seven or eight years ago, arguments about which clique got the sofas escalated to such a level that some of the students decided to do things democratically.British Bulldog was the only way.At the beginning of each term once in September and once in January the whole sixth form would fight for the right to have the sofas. The teachers knew it happened, hell, they had been known to join in, but they all turned a blind eye to the aggressive behaviour.And so it was because of this petty and slightly strange arrangement that I came to be standing on a muddy rugby
Well Dressed BoyTheres nothing about him to mark him as specialThat well dressed boy in old London townA dapper young chap, just minding his ownIn polished black shoes, makes a clacking soundHe coats his legs in skin-tight jeansThey might as well be painted onA vision in white and black and greyLike a Photoshop painting in monochromeExpertly tousled, his hair defines physicsThe wind never dares move a single strandHe wears large black glasses, you cant see his eyesAnd he carries a large, neat briefcase in handYet despite his good looks and aloof demeanourHes not that special, not one of a kindJust another one of those damned metrosexualsThey love buying shoes, but are as straight as a lineHe could be a banker; he could be a rent boyPerhaps hes a wanker; perhaps hes a godFine chiselled features, a sense of importanceTheres nothing about him proclaiming him oddBut this lad holds a secret, one he cant shareIt burns him and churns him and make
Oh DailyBoothIt was 2009, my thoughts were short, my hair was longBored with nothing very much to doId climbed a dozen trees and watched a thousand DVDsIt was hell living with nothing fun to doMy books, theyd all been finishedMy phone was out of minutesMy life was dull, I felt such great despairSo I logged on the InternetAnd man I never will forgetThe site that greeted me when I got thereAnd now were all completely hookedSnapping pets and food and booksSharing love online through all of our photographsDrinking ketchup out the bottle, cant wait until tomorrowSaying Im not gonna leave you, oh DailyBoothSaying Im not gonna leave you, oh DailyBoothWe upload pictures by the tonAnd stalking you is so much funMy life will never be the same againWe all bow down to JonWorlds greatest genius, bar noneHe showed us that were all just really vainSo heres my hair when its not dryAnd heres a handstand that I triedI tell you,
Mr BrightsideIt started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss.It was only a kiss.We had met back in the summer of 2005 at a party held by a mutual friend. There was a barbecue and it was populated by people of the age somewhere between university and marriage. The floating masses, those who still were in the mindset of a student but knew they should be further ahead.In our heads, as children, we sometimes imagine we will be married and settled by this age. My parents married and had my older sister when they were nineteen. I guess I assumed the same would be true for me, although, as Id aged, Id thought children would never happen for me. I didnt want them. I was happy being young, free and single.She brushed past me, chestnut hair cascading down her back, the most beautiful girl Id ever met. My mates, believing me to have no chance with her, bet me fifty quid that I couldnt pull her by the end of the night, doubling the prize if I slept
Some Dance To Remember...Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. Tonight, I was dancing to forget. My right hand clasped his left and I guided his hip around the room as we moved in time to the music. His blue eyes shone out of the darkness, lighting up his whole face. I couldnt help but smile as he looked at me, our eyes joined by an invisible bond I didnt want to break.I shouldnt be here, I said, and although I knew the words were true, I couldnt stop dancing. I was even leading it had been my idea to dance. What was I doing? My girlfriend sat at home and here I was dancing with the most handsome man Id ever encountered.You should be here, he whispered. Forget about her. And anyway, you arent cheating. Were just dancing, thats all. Just dancing.Im not just dancing anymore, I said, unable to believe I was just about to say what I was going to say. I think Im falling.Fa
TrainTrainNot even lightGet ready to fightFor a seatEarly morning smellsSmells of commutersLeather briefcasesLeather shoesPrinted newsDry hair, wet hairBurnt hair, hairsprayCoffee and baconToast and bagelsCommuters tiredNo one speaksWindow squeaksTrees rush byFields and townsNewspapers rustlePeople get onNo one gets offA single coughPull in, pull awaySame every dayLaptops beepRummage for ticketsThey never checkA snore, a sneezeGet me off now please
GravesideSpencer drifted through the throng of people, nodding to those he liked, ignoring those he was less happy to see. He was looking for someone. Where was she? Ah, there. Ahead of him stood Jenna, his youngest sibling and only sister, dressed in a smart black dress, a shawl draped around her shoulders. She was not wearing a hat, but had instead dyed her usually blonde hair black.Spencers arm curled up round her shoulders and she sighed as the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention.It doesnt seem real does it? he whispered.I
I just dont know what Im going to do, she sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief Spencer recognised as his own. He was so important to me.I know, I know, said Spencer, brushing the hair from his sisters face. I worry about silly things though, like whats happening to the flat?I wonder if I should move into the flat, Jenna stared in