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Well, he liked to be called Harvard, y'know, but we all called him Blaise because he'd turn up for lectures in a silken tunic with bits of paper sewn into the lining. This was unusual at Black Pudding Poly but we all tolerated him. We had badges that said MENTOR so everything was OK, of course. Like it is with badges, hey!
That was in the day when dope was dope. It was pre-K. That was when a degree was worth the parchment it was quilled into. Not like the certificates for duck quacking that are paper darted out to young ones willy-nilly. A First is really a pseudonym for a trip up Subway these days.
Blaise had these thoughts when he walked along French country tracks. I believe he was a Jesuit, so his shirts wouldn't have had conditioner in the final rinse. One day, one of these thoughts was so overwhelming that he collapsed and needed assistance. I think he lodged in a beautiful convent with some wine.
These days if you saw someone having a thought in the street and sewing it into their tracksuit you'd steer a wide berth, I reckon. OUR pre-K Blaise was OK with us. He was amidst student loans and squalor and ceaseless shared-roomed sex acts. These days, a thought-thinking seamster or seamstress would be labelled bipolar and Sectioned. There'd be jig-saws, bag-boiled fish meals, fishtanks and an itinerant vicar to cheer him up on the care ward, and he'd only be allowed into the communal garden if he promised to sit still in the greenhouse.
I think people who need locking up should be rounded up and forced to attend Sunday late afternoon local pub gigs with a good few beers. I tell you, I've seen more Blaise doppelgaengers there across the monitors than in any run-down town centre bus station.
Does that place Harvard, aka Blaise, for you now, Bigfoot? He played top team badminton and came from Rawtenstall. Despite such evident disadvantages, we did commune across accents. In chat, there's no need to sew stuff into overcoats.
That was in the day when dope was dope. It was pre-K. That was when a degree was worth the parchment it was quilled into. Not like the certificates for duck quacking that are paper darted out to young ones willy-nilly. A First is really a pseudonym for a trip up Subway these days.
Blaise had these thoughts when he walked along French country tracks. I believe he was a Jesuit, so his shirts wouldn't have had conditioner in the final rinse. One day, one of these thoughts was so overwhelming that he collapsed and needed assistance. I think he lodged in a beautiful convent with some wine.
These days if you saw someone having a thought in the street and sewing it into their tracksuit you'd steer a wide berth, I reckon. OUR pre-K Blaise was OK with us. He was amidst student loans and squalor and ceaseless shared-roomed sex acts. These days, a thought-thinking seamster or seamstress would be labelled bipolar and Sectioned. There'd be jig-saws, bag-boiled fish meals, fishtanks and an itinerant vicar to cheer him up on the care ward, and he'd only be allowed into the communal garden if he promised to sit still in the greenhouse.
I think people who need locking up should be rounded up and forced to attend Sunday late afternoon local pub gigs with a good few beers. I tell you, I've seen more Blaise doppelgaengers there across the monitors than in any run-down town centre bus station.
Does that place Harvard, aka Blaise, for you now, Bigfoot? He played top team badminton and came from Rawtenstall. Despite such evident disadvantages, we did commune across accents. In chat, there's no need to sew stuff into overcoats.
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