Harry Bath - A Walking & Talking Disaster (Chapters 1-19)

MY FIRST DAY - PART 1

Hello again. As I mentioned earlier, this blog is here to tell you my story. No words can justify the crippling embarrassment and all round shame that comes with my life, but here's to trying.

Our story begins on 2nd September 2013. The first day of sixth form. If you're wondering how I remember the date so clearly, it's because I have an uncanny ability to remember the dates of significant events in my life. For example. First heartbreak, 16th May 2012. GCSE results day, 22nd August 2013. And most importantly, first wank. Which I did during the X Factor over Cheryl Cole on Saturday December 13th 2008 when I was 11. The saddest part is, I didn't even make that up...

Anyway, back to the story. Unfortunately for me, the sixth form I had chosen to go to was Hall Cross Academy. People ask me things like "why did you choose Hall Cross" and "why didn't you do an apprenticeship". And to be honest, I have no fucking idea. I suppose there's only two solid reasons. One, my best friend in the whole world was going. Tim is one of those people you meet once in a lifetime. And as you'll find out throughout the story, I am not very keen on the female race (Or some of them at least). But one thing I can say is that if it wasn't for Tim's then wench of a girlfriend, we probably would have never met. Long story short I was friends with Tim's girlfriend who then introduced me to him. Me and Tim hit it off and then she cheated on him. And then when I was still hanging around with Tim as well as her, she got angry. Words were said, and me and her fell out. The rest is history. I've only known Tim for 2 years and 3 months, but it feels like we've been mates forever. And with some of the shit we've been through, we're closer than ever.

Cheesy clichés aside, The second reason I decided to study in hell is simple. Fit girls. I walked in on enrolment day and literally felt my eyes pop out of my skull. I swear, for the first half an hour I was just walking to random subject desks and debating whether to take Anthropology just because of the girls that were swanning around the area. I don't study mammals, but you didn't need to in order appreciate the specimens that Hall Cross had to offer. Thankfully, my penis didn't take full control that day, and I did indeed choose the A-Levels that I intended to. So with that decided, I strolled over to Media, I.C.T and Theatre Studies, handed over my grades, and that was that. Tim chose exactly the same subjects as me, meaning we had a little celebration in reception which looked a bit like the viral video where four guys freak out over Miss Philippines.

Great. So, looking like we'd signed up to the YMCA as oppose to Hall Cross Sixth form, we headed home, and prepared ourselves for what our lives were about to become.

11 days later, I found myself in front of the mirror gearing up for the day, term and year ahead. At this point in my life, I had shoulder length hair, meaning that an argument with myself about how to wear it on my first day ensued. On one hand, wearing it up would show the teachers and staff that I am sophisticated, intelligent, and that my hair would not affect my learning in any way. On the other hand, wearing it down would show off my well-kept locks of luscious silk to the ladies, who would see my rugged and somewhat 'sexy' side. As I'm a clinical moron, no points for guessing which look I went with. And so obsessed was I with my hair, I left the house without the only thing I was required to bring that day. My Tie. So I arrived in Frenchgate with a face full of hair, no tie, and a feeling that this was going to be one of the longest days of my life.

As always is with me, I arrived irritatingly early, meaning there was no other sod around. However, it did give me the chance to be the first one to see the 'new' common room for the first time. According to Mr. Swain, the school had spent 'tens of thousands of pounds' refurbishing the common room. So what I expected is a room filled with flat screen T.V's, an open bar, and walls made of candy. What I actually found, was a room filled with nothing but blue and red chairs. Literally. There was tables, a tiny T.V stuck to the back wall, and masses of nothing but blue and red fucking chairs. I should have taken this as a sign of things to come, but I just figured that Mr. S had literally hustled me into joining his sixth form. Like some kind of two-bit gangster. In retrospect, he also promised free student parking, great I.C.T resources and a fulfilling and happy learning experience. Which of course, all turned out to be bullshit.

Next on my agenda was the small matter of which form I was in. To put you non-school goers in the picture, form is 15 pointless shitty minutes you spend in a room full of other drowsy teenagers whilst you get rambled at. And for the record, assembly is the same thing only in a big fuck-off hall. I've always said that Hall Cross couldn't organize a prayer in a mosque, and I came to this conclusion only 20 minutes into my life there. The brilliant idea that they'd come up with was to put sheets labelled A-M up on the reception wall, place everyone's name on the corresponding sheet along with the name of the room to go to, and then fucking leave us to it. That was it. No guidance. No assistance. Nothing. Rather fittingly, I was in form D.

As people started to arrive, I soon found out I wasn't the only one who was confused. Eventually, people just started shouting their name out loud in the hope someone would pair up with them. It built from there until tribe like groups made their way across the school. Luckily for me, I was able to follow the best person I could up to my form room.

With his dashing good looks and smiley persona, Brandon seemed like the go to guy to find out where the fuck I was going. After all the pleasantries, he told me that he was already a Hall Cross student and assured me that with him around, I wouldn't be abandoned. 'Abandoned'. That was the word he reassured me with.

On the way though, my disaster prone aura had already infected poor old Brandon, and we were stopped by a teacher who quite frankly, looked like Moleman from The Simpsons, only in a tracksuit

Of course, I had no idea what he wanted, but Brandon's face suddenly dropped as soon as we both heard the equally Moleman-like voice squeak out of the strange little man. He wanted Brandon to participate in the school hockey team. And from the size of him, you could see why. But part of me was a little disappointed. I couldn't believe that the first sign of a decent guy I thought I could be friends with turned out to be a 6 ft 2 hockey player who made the likes of me look even more minging than Moleman. But Brandon proved me wrong. He dodged the advances of Hans Hockey Man like a pro and then explained to me that he'd prefer to jump out the adjacent window rather than play hockey again. From that response and the fact that he confirmed that he knew Tim, I knew that Brandon was here to stay.

And the weirdest part? Brandon was in all my lessons too. Although there was no dance this time...

Thanks,

Harry.