Leaving A Legacy

In typical fashion J always has to try and trump whatever I do, whether it be kicking my ass in English class, or coming down with some strange disease that makes my flu look like a sniffle. So last night after hearing about the strange side affliction, I started thinking that the only way she could never beat me was leaving a glorious legacy behind me. So I started thinking... First off, I need to start saving for my own tropical island, because who can do anything in the freezing wastelands of the Midlands. Once I make my first couple million I'm off!!

And I'm quite aware that that is not a legacy, but J seemed to assume that this talk made me sound like a crazed emperor. I kind of liked this idea, except unlike Nero I wouldn't be quite as silly as to set fire to and watch my own city burn. I'd find someone else's and then dance around the flames in a maniacal frenzy, and then return to my little island to watch it on CNN. By this stage J was in fits of laughter at my "weird delusions of grandeur", and I had to remind her that she was just jealous of my wonderful plan to trump her life legacy.

And in true style she pointed out that she would just surpass me in an epic death sequence after I'd been institutionalised. Could I not just have the upper hand once?? Because of this I had to re-think my whole plan, and then the most brilliant solution dawned on me... To have the strangest and most absurd death ever heard of! The plan? To be ravaged by the rabid sea turtle which would guard my island! J however, had to point out that sea turtles don't eat meat, but for once I'd thought ahead. Obviously that's what would make the whole thing so bizarre that my story would become urban legend! Imagine the headlines... Retired Loon Devoured by Pet Turtle.

Now that's a legacy!

School Safety

I AM ALIVE!!! Ok so the drunken golf carting never happened, so I can't be too melodramatic. Actually the nobble and I got over the whole drunken thing after realising that we do much better when attempting to clobber each other with tennis balls in the blistering heat. Somehow it just makes the whole world seem so much happier, especially when picturing faces on balls and compellingly smacking them at another person's throat. I honestly dread the day when either of us learn aim and direction.

But in between our rapid-fire rallies yesterday, we... Ok fine... I needed a breather. At this point I discovered that the lifeguards at the pool next to the courts were as high as kites!! I'm no expert here, but I would assume being high is as dangerous as being drunk near water (and we all know what happens when I drink near water). Anyway, I don't think I'd be too perturbed by it all if these lifeguards seemed like vaguely competent swimmers themselves (I am a fish, so I wouldn't worry about giving me responsibility like that and tequila), but they needed kicker boards to stay afloat!

And I saw them "training", it wasn't like they were using the boards as floatation devices for potential victims. They looked like half-drowned rat-dogs, legs flailing everywhere, violently splashing and thrusting toward the middle of the pool. I mean I know there's not enough money to hire high class Baywatch professionals, but surely the University could at least find lifeguards that have been swimming longer than the last two weeks, and sober for at least 3 days! I mean what if I suddenly got cramp while attempting a double tuck pike on the high dive?! I wouldn't be discovered for weeks!! Hmmmm... possible dumping grounds for undesirables??? Hmmmmm..... Heh heh heh....

The Adventure Begins. . .

This could be my final blog post. The nobble and our two best friends Pierre and Jose are embarking on a bikini clad golf cart extreme stunting session. How many sand traps can be clear before we over shoot into the Duzi? A hypothesis that needs further research to determine. . Watch this space.

Ps the twang has once again abandoned us for the safety of the pub. . But soon we'll convince her otherwise!