by Unknown
I have stubble for the first time – unfortunately, it’s in the wrong place.
Wednesday 1st May
The Crazy Eight (minus cat) are going on the Adventure Club three-day hike next week. The other five hikers are from Larson House. One of them is Geoff Lawson who used to be my big buddy but still hasn’t forgiven me for running off with Amanda last year. Mad Dog is beside himself with excitement. The moment Mr Hall left the class he jumped up and whooped loudly. He then tied Simon to his chair and teased him about being a tennis player. Simon lost his sense of humour so the class left him tied to the chair in Mr Hall’s classroom. I snuck around the corner and waited until everybody had gone to lunch and then slipped back into the classroom and untied our cricket captain. Once he was released he said, ‘Bastards!’ and stormed out without even looking at me or saying thank you.
Thursday 2nd May
Boggo has invited us to his girlfriend’s house for a party. He didn’t say when it was going to happen. All he said was that it’s going to be ‘wild, sick and porno’. I’m very excited.
RUGBY PRACTICE HORROR
Mongrel is the under 15C rugby coach! The man is a sadistic, brainless, heartless monster. I wish I had taken tennis instead. We spent the first hour of practice running and the second half leopard crawling. A former veteran of the Rhodesian bush war should not be coaching under 15C rugby, or any rugby for that matter. Just about everybody collapsed or puked at some stage and poor Vern ran into one of the posts by mistake and had to go to the san because he was seeing double. Mongrel said we were the worst rugby side in the school last year and we have to pay for the shame we have brought on our comrades. With his thick moustache (he looks like a traffic cop) and thick accent, he keeps saying, ‘You guys is a bunch of girls!’ or ‘Rugby are not a game for poofters!’
Last year’s under 14D captain, Pig, said he was seeing triple and staggered off to the san to see if he could convince Sister Collins that he had a serious and possibly life threatening injury.
Friday 3rd May
There’s no rugby tomorrow although Mongrel has called the under 15Cs and reserves to a practice at 10am. Underneath the order were the words:
Bring Tackies
Sounds ominous.
We visited the first year dorm in another Crazy Eight show of strength. Boggo forced Spike to shag his pillow and make orgasm noises. Spike was very realistic and after a few minutes it started to look like he was enjoying himself and everyone felt a bit embarrassed. Thankfully, Fatty farted and we all scattered back to our beds. I lay down and shouted out Goodnight to the Crazy Eight. Unfortunately, it came out as a terrible squawk that sounded like a cross between a donkey bray and the shriek of a six-year-old girl. I drew my hand up to my mouth but it was too late. Within seconds I was surrounded by a crowd of cackling mouths. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or proud so I laughed and blushed and shook seven hands and a paw. I was then told that I had just had my first knackjump. Once the laughter died down and everyone had taken their turn making a joke with Simon’s toy magnifying glass, I settled on the window ledge and looked out at Pissing Pete. I heard the sound of a distant train clattering along through the Midlands and tried to work out whether it was coming or going. I felt a surge of excitement – in fact I felt more relieved and proud. At last my balls are dropping!
Saturday 4th May
Extra rugby practice. We carried huge logs up and down the rugby field until our backs were too sore to carry on. Mongrel called us a bunch of moffies and ordered us to run the cross country course. Even worse was that he ran along with us, blowing his whistle and calling us girls and monkey naaiers. This is worse than Mordor!
Sunday 5th May
MY VOICE IS BREAKING!
I could hardly get through a verse of the school hymn without knackjumping. In the end I mimed singing. The first year sitting next to me in the choir stalls thought I was insane and kept looking at me out the corner of his eye. I hope this terrible donkey squawk doesn’t hang around for long or this could get really embarrassing.
Monday 6th May
House plays auditions are taking place next Monday.
Last year house plays were cancelled because of Oliver – so this will be my debut in a non musical. I was the first person to write my name on the board. The play is The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams and according to the director (Julian), it’s a classic. Apparently it’s all about a woman with a deformed foot who falls in love with a good-looking friend of her brother. Julian said he was planning on playing the girl with the deformed foot.
13:00 I knocked three times on The Guv’s back door as usual. There wasn’t a sound from inside the house and all the curtains were closed. I tried the handle and the door opened. I called out, ‘Sir?’
From a pitch black lounge came a low voice. ‘Milton, damn and blast your punctuality.’ I said, ‘Afternoon, sir.’ Then the voice from the dark replied, ‘Do not set forth upon this room.’ He then went on a long rampage about technology and how it was the great evil of the earth. I hung around in his hallway. I noticed his answering machine had thirty-two unheard messages. The red lights flashed urgently on the machine like it was begging me to do something. ‘Right, you miserable little whinging stickleback, that will teach you.’ There was the snapping of plugs and then came a loud shout – ‘Enter!’
I found The Guv in the middle of his lounge, standing beside a slide projector with his walking stick.
‘Pull up a pew, Milton. I guarantee a religious experience.’
I felt for the armchair while my cricket coach snapped on the first slide. It looked like an ancient old house somewhere in England. The Guv tapped the slide projector with his walking stick and said, ‘This, Milton, is where the greatest writer of all time laid his seed.’ I wasn’t sure what he was on about so I just grinned back at him like a loon. ‘And in case your corrupt adolescent mind thought I was talking about barbaric sex, I refer of course to Shakespeare’s house!’
I told him it looked very nice. The Guv barked in uproar and thoroughly abused me for calling the ‘Mecca of literature’ nice. He then opened the curtains and collapsed into his rocking chair, looking exhausted. ‘God, living is such an awful waste of one’s energy.’ He uncorked his wine and said, ‘Good holiday, Milton?’ Before I could answer he said, ‘As you can see, I went off to the Isle of Pom. Grey and dismal, old man. There’s no two bones about it. You’re abroad in July?’ It sounded so grand the way The Guv said it that I shrugged nonchalantly like going abroad was a standard Milton holiday.
And so the wine disappeared and The Guv continued his descriptive abuse of everything from the weather to the lack of basic hygiene on your average Brit. After a lunch of chicken and salad he handed me Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country and told me it was a belter. The Guv poured more wine and began telling stories about people from his university days before falling asleep in his chair.
Tuesday 7th May
If today’s rugby practice is anything to go by I should be the under 15C fullback. Unfortunately, when I told Mongrel I would miss Thursday’s practice (because of the three-day hike) he started shouting at me in Afrikaans and then ordered me to drop for fifty press-ups in front of the whole team. While I was huffing and puffing he said, ‘You okes want to go and sleep in a tent together and play with each other’s pielies! I’ll have no monkey naaiers in this team.’ Once I had finished my press-ups and was helped to my feet by Pig, Vern stepped forward and told Mongrel he was also going on the hike. Mongrel stared at Vern and said, ‘Who the hell are you?’ Guess Vern won’t be playing on Saturday.
12:30 We have been given our hiking instructions by Mr Hall. We have to walk over 20 kilometres a day and we are carrying a 15 kilogram backpack. (That’s almost a third of my weight!) We leave school tomorrow morning and set up camp on an Old Boy’s farm near Fort Nottingham. The second day we go cross country and camp at the foot of Inhlazane and then on the final day we make the 26 kilometre trek back to sc
hool. Surprisingly, Fatty looked really excited about three days of trekking through the bushveld. Mad Dog was so excited that he asked Mr Hall if we could leave tonight. Mr Hall took a long drag on his pipe and told us to be patient and prepare ourselves for the mission. We have each been given:
Backpack
A wafer thin mattress
Tent
Bottom sheet
Bowl, mug, spoon, fork and knife
Small gas cooker
Tin pot
Miniature torch
A length of rope
Raincoat
Mini first aid kit
Compass
Map
Two drumsticks (not sure how they got into the ration)
A packet of food rations
After lights out everyone packed up their backpacks. Mine was so heavy that Vern had to help me sling it over my back and steady me when I was upright. Mad Dog threw his backpack into the corner of his cubicle and then dug around under his bed. He then pulled out his own heavy-duty rucksack that was already packed with everything a hiker could possibly need. Mad Dog reckons his own backpack is 22 kilograms but said it was like carrying a feather. He told us that he once carried a dead goat for 8 kilometres. He didn’t say why.
Meanwhile Fatty announced that he would rather be well fed than comfortable, so he left everything behind except for food and cooking equipment. He then added about ten kilograms of nosh from his own tuck reserve.
Vern packed all his toiletries, including a razor and shaving foam. He tried to pack Potato the teddy bear into his backpack but then couldn’t fit in his cooking pot. Eventually he gave up and told Potato that the mission was too dangerous and that he should stay behind to protect the dormitory.
I think Roger knew that Vern was going away because he slept the night in his backpack.
Wednesday 8th May
THE GREAT THREE-DAY HIKE BEGINS…
07:00 We all gathered in the main quad for a prayer with Reverend Bishop and a lecture from Mr Hall. The weather was clear and bright although there was a nasty backstabbing wind that snuck around the cloisters and made my teeth chatter.
Mad Dog reached the fence to cross the railway line before the rest of us were even out of the school rose gardens. The Larson boys stuck to themselves as a group and so did we, although Geoff Lawson did come across and say ‘Howzit.’ Unbelievably, Fatty was full of cheer and even got us singing an old marching song as we made our way towards Fort Nottingham.
After a few minutes Mad Dog had disappeared completely – obviously he’s not doing the group thing. Then there was a crunch of tyres and a small white truck came into view. Smiling behind the wheel was Geoff Lawson’s farm housekeeper Joseph. We all followed Geoff and sprinted to the truck. We leapt on the back but then had to jump off again and help load Fatty on. Joseph pulled a tarpaulin over our heads and soon we were bouncing along the road listening to the roar of the diesel engine. Underneath the tarpaulin Fatty and Geoff shared a high five. Fatty winked at me and said, ‘Spud, I love it when a plan comes together!’
I’m not sure this is quite what Mr Hall had in mind for our adventure hike, but a relaxing day at Lawson’s stud farm sure beats lugging 15 kilograms up and down hills all day.
Mad Dog missed a day of fine food, fishing in the dam and a Crazy Eight versus Larson House touch rugby match. Fatty said he would be the ref, but sat under a tree eating snackwiches and shouting ‘Forward pass!’ whenever he felt like it.
16:00 Joseph dropped us a few hundred metres from Eaglederry farm. It would have been splendid to sleep at Geoff’s farm instead of the Old Boy’s farm but it was decided that it could be risky because the farmer Old Boy could rat on us if we didn’t rock up. On arrival we all tried to look as exhausted as possible in case the farmer was watching us through binoculars. Mad Dog was there already and had set up a huge green army tent with a veranda attached in the pine plantations. Fatty took one look at Mad Dog’s mansion and announced that he was sharing with him. He settled himself down on Mad Dog’s veranda and started unloading 15 kilograms of food.
Simon suggested to Rambo that the two of them set up their tents next to Mad Dog’s. Rambo looked at Simon like he was mad and said he didn’t want to sleep next to a tennis player. Simon tried his best to laugh it off but then moved away and started erecting his tent by himself. Rambo and Boggo moved off together and started setting up some distance from the rest of us.
Unfortunately, that left me with Vern. My cubicle mate put his arm around my shoulder and said, ‘It’s you and me, Spudeeee.’ The thought was horrible so I said, ‘Sorry, Vern. Actually I’m setting up with Simon.’ Vern looked confused and a little crazy like he couldn’t comprehend me not sleeping alongside him every night. Then there was a voice from the bushes. ‘If you so much as set up within ten metres of me I’ll shit in your tent, Milton!’
18:00 It was nearly dark and Vern and I were still nowhere near getting our tent up. Twice it looked like I had worked out the tent riddle but twice Vern got caught inside the tent, freaked out and pulled everything to pieces. Simon, Fatty, Rambo and Boggo shouted nasty comments at us from Mad Dog’s veranda.
While I was brushing my teeth at the tap near the dam I heard loud shouting from the direction of Mad Dog’s palace. I sprinted back to camp to find Fatty in a foul mood and Mad Dog holding out his hunting and filleting knife. Mad Dog told Fatty he wasn’t sleeping in his tent and called him a slob.
Later I slipped into Mad Dog’s tent to find him sharpening his hunting and filleting knife in the light of his gas lamp. His tent was huge and looked extremely warm and comfortable. He looked at me as if he was about to tell me to get lost so I jumped in quickly and asked him if I could join him on the hike tomorrow. I told him I wanted to get the real adventure experience and not hang around at Lawson’s farm. Mad Dog shrugged and said, ‘Cool.’ I thanked him and returned to my backpack, pulled out my sleeping bag and used my raincoat as a pillow. I added some logs to the fire and settled down for a night under the African stars.
Thursday 9th May
Mad Dog and I left Eaglederry farm at first light and made our way down the dust road and then scrambled through a fence and into some open grassland. We marched along at a good pace with the rising sun warming our backs and with the crunch of fresh stalks of grass beneath our walking boots.
Later in the morning Mad Dog showed me a brown bird called a honeyguide that he said would lead us to a beehive. He pointed at the bird that was calling madly at us and said, ‘Spuddy, I bet you ten bucks he’s gonna take us to honey.’ Mad Dog explained that honeyguides lead honey badgers to a beehive and then pick up the scraps once the animal has eaten himself to a standstill. This is quite a cunning hunting ploy for a bird who isn’t brave enough to rob the hive himself.
After trailing this crazy bird for what seemed like a million kilometres, we approached a small patch of wild forest. Mad Dog pointed towards the trees and said, ‘I bet you a hundred bucks the honey is somewhere in that forest.’ Mad Dog’s bet had just jumped tenfold so I figured the chance of actually finding honey was improving. We stored our backpacks behind a big rock and then started running after the honeyguide, which was looking more and more desperate as it flew from tree to tree. I knew we were getting close to the hive because there were bees buzzing everywhere and the bird was becoming more and more hysterical. Mad Dog told me to hang back and disappeared into the thick bushes ahead. I retreated to a rocky outcrop and waited for something to happen.
Mad Dog returned with a huge honeycomb brick and about thirty nasty bee stings. We sat down on the warm rock and tucked into a delicious breakfast of stale bread and fresh honey. The honeyguide was chirping loudly and hopping closer and closer to our rock, begging for his share of the loot. Mad Dog slid his hand into his backpack and pulled out his catapult. Before I could even try and stop him, there was a loud THWACK and the honeyguide lay stone dead and bleeding on the rock in front of us. I felt terrible for the poor bird. The surprise of b
eing betrayed was still frozen onto his death expression. Fatty would say Mad Dog has now completely screwed up his Karma and will be in for some misfortune.
Mad Dog roasted the honeyguide corpse over his gas burner, feathers and all. After his breakfast of honey and honeyguide, he started pegging his hunting and filleting knife into the ground rather close to my foot. I soon realized that the point of the game was to peg the knife as close to my foot as possible. I charged off and hid behind a tree. Unfortunately, Mad Dog then started pegging the knife into the tree very close to my head. I decided to surrender before Mad Dog became even more dangerous and I was murdered with a hunting and filleting knife to the brain, and accepted his offer of a blindfold while he spent the next ten minutes throwing his knife at the space next to my foot.
An important lesson has been learned.
Mental Note: Never hike with a madman.
14:30 Arrival at the foot of Inhlazane. The local farmer didn’t seem overly thrilled to see us and told us to set up camp as far away from his farmhouse as possible. Mad Dog chose a flat patch under some trees near the farmer’s dam. I collapsed in exhaustion and put off trying to set up my tent until I was rested. Of course Mad Dog had his mansion up in minutes. He then said, ‘You’re in with me tonight, Spuddy. You can set up your sleeping bag on the far side.’ I was terrified. I told him I wanted to sleep alone but then he pulled out his hunting and filleting knife and started sharpening it on the tent pole. I lost my confidence and carried my backpack meekly into the Mad Dog mansion.
17:00 There was a huge commotion when the others joined us at the camp. Boggo and Rambo accused Simon of trying to spade Geoff Lawson’s maid. Simon told them to F-off and set up his tent away from the group again. He seems to be having a miserable hike and is now being called Gabriela Sabatini by everyone.
