Wednesday, 11 February 2015

A bit extra this Valentine's Day


WHAT DO you give to the man who has everything? Well, LOVE of course. Not the soppy, 'I baked you a cake and let’s cuddle up on the sofa' kind of love and not the shall I bring a friend round, although you could try that as well, but rather use the LOVE discount code for your order at Stuarts and get 10% off your order.

There’s tons of stuff to choose from, if you want to keep it specifically red for the day of love, the Norse Projects Neils pocket linen T-shirt, or the Shadow Saucony Shadow 5000 trainers, Armani Jeans Hawaii Fantasia shirt, to the Paul and Shark Yachting striped navy polo there is plenty to chose from.

So why not spoil the man who has everything, or spoil yourself if you are said man, but I definitely recommend taking her up on the offer of bringing a friend over.

Or was that just my imagination?

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Mind your language with Skylon


BEING RENOWNED for several educational firsts, Thruston Manor’s influence, if not always wanted, did reach international proportions during my third year of esoteric educationally folly.

It is always a proud boast for any Anglo-Saxon male that his mother tongue, although born of many from those pesky old Frenchies, ‘the oldest enemy’ to German, the English language, is the widest spoken across this fair old globe of ours. It must be noted though, there is a certain section, neigh a corner of a foreign field, of the world that speaks an unusual version of the King’s thanks solely to Thruston’s English language teacher Mr Vanguard-Hooperton

A dandy fellow, who cut a gay blade look, Van Man, as he was known was all shoulder dropped jumpers, checked shirts such as Mikkel Rude and wild scarves in summer, tennis trainers sans socks, Shoes Like Pottery, for example.
Day and night, the perpetual Persol Tortoise glass wearing teacher would prowl the school’s library and study areas, with bags, (Filson) crammed with note pads and various translation titles.

As if driven and enthused by the knowledge contained with the books that adorned the walls of said rooms and with pen pursed against lips he would hold a studied scowl, before switching to a look of wide-eyed glee, nodding seconds before removing his pen and scribbling like a mad scientist in said text, launching his head back and laughing uproariously.

For year’s the school’s overseas trips, cocktail and dining evenings were funded from the earnings of Van Man’s translation books, which were gamely sold to any overseas students attending the school and mercilously plugged to all ends of the earth as the ‘corner stone of foreign language learning’.
It was only after several years of continued examination failures from Vanguard's overseas students, in English as second language, that it became the subject of school investigations.

This was quickly followed by a study of the editorial content of the books, which was called for by several notable and more than slightly peeved publishing houses, who had failed to produce such amazing financial windfalls with their published offerings.

After fighting a good fight of cocking a snook at these ‘inferior, plebescent’ publishers for more than a year, Van Man took his note to leave, after a day trip of Thruston’s elite overseas pupils, including the son of King Donno the Third from Swaziland led to several arrests for public order and indecency incidents.

The day which would see the group attend the Houses of Parliament, had not started well, when Prince Donno conferred to his Thruston penned language guide at Wislebeck railway station to ask an elderly member of the Thurston Village WI holding a cake sale fundraiser in the station’s ornate, but run down waiting room. Dunno asked the cake seller if she would: ‘Touch my penis in a manner befitting a wild dog’.

Donno’s request caused obvious anxiety in the elderly blue rinse fundraiser, who initially asked Donno to raise his voice, thinking her poor hearing was the reason for her confusion at his request.
After several full volume requests from the pupil, all shaking jowls and red face, that a stunned silence and faint endured fundraiser, was broken by Miss Havershamble’s overly sniffy repost, ‘he is foreign’ to which all present, minus collapsed cake seller, smiled and nodded a sympathetic and knowing nod, ensuring that the incident past without further question. At least until the WI caused a riot at the village clink several hours later, lifted by several large gins no doubt.
Several other ‘outrages’ occurred throughout the day notably at the London Planetarium, not to mention the fist fight that broke out on Speakers Corner. 

Once the translation book, which contained complete nonsense translations for common or garden English saying, even asking where the Post Office was, seemed to be a riot of colourful madness.
The content made sense to anyone who had witnessed VM's head flinging and raucous laughter.

But when it fell into the eager beaver hands of Sgt Dixon Dockgreen, all hell broke lose.
Dockgreen was the officer in charge of what became known as the ‘Vanished Vanguard’ case, the great and unwashed joined in this pursuit of preciousness, stories of tourists stating they ‘had breasts the size of the devils head’ when all they wanted to say was ‘can I have an extra potato’.
According to the immigration department the confusion caused months of delays and national daily newspaper headlines, but hey, when have they ever told the truth??!!! 

Nothing was heard of Van Man again, there were stories of course, but the only abiding memory I have of him are his Persol glasses, which still remain dust covered and unmoved in the admission desk in the school library. A marginally fitting memoir, or should I say ‘touch me dog faced arse cat’?

As I leave this post from the big man's little book of school memories, one does wonder what would have happened in the world of Premier League football today with the amount of overseas players reverting to Vanguard’s etchings when speaking to the referee?

Rave On.