Wednesday 15 October 2014

Spontaneously Self-combust

Economics lessons in 6th form were probably the most boring lessons in the world. I’d never known an hour go so slow. Whereas ‘Claypole’ Griffiths had made demand and supply seem pretty sexy at O-Level, ‘old big nose’ Giles, who was our teacher at A-Level, was drier than a glass of cool, crisp Chablis. What’s worse was it was last lesson on a Friday when the rest of the sixth form had celebrated POETS day and long since gone home, or for a glass of the aforementioned wine.
So I used to spend my Friday afternoons half-listening to drivel about supply and demand and gross domestic product and half-seeing if I could make myself spontaneously self-combust.
Yep, that’s right my inquisitive teenage brain had just discovered that people could make themselves burst into flames and I was determined to try it. (Although I must admit I hadn’t truly considered the consequences.)
It was a bright, sunny Friday afternoon in March, just two months to the exam. Gilo was being at his condescending best, angrily reminding us all we should ‘know this by now.’ I closed my eyes tight and willed the flames to come. Surely a human bonfire would be better than the torture Giles was putting us through. Suddenly I could smell burning. Jesus I had done it, I’d only gone and bloody done it. I’d set myself on fire. I screwed my eyes up even more and urged the flames on. I was literally going out in a blaze of glory. The smell was stronger, then an almighty bang, a huge noise that brought ringing in our ears and in the corridors.
‘Davies what are you doing?’ Giles’s voice bellowed, but I wasn’t going to let that bastard ruin my moment.
‘Davies stop your bloody daydreaming and get out of the school.’
I opened my eyes, the class was full of smoke and debris, but to my great disappointment I was not engulfed in flames. Giles was the only person left in the room.
‘Shift’ he yelled.
I got up and rather dejectedly made my way out of the school to the assembly point to find out that it had been mad Stevens the science teacher and not me that had nearly burnt the school down.


1 comment:

  1. Petra Goláňová7 July 2015 at 22:54

    My Friday afternoons in 3rd form of grammar-school were similar...A lesson of physics, an elderly straight-faced teacher dressed in a white science coat and his typical "Well, Vyroubale, I didn't like it " or from time to time "I liked it." to bring in his verdict on a poor student. In Czech it was: " Na ja, Vyróbale, to se mně nelééébilo X lébilo" which is a Moravian dialect. Fortunatelly I sat in the back by a window so I could watch trees and the life outside our prison. But "Daněčková ! - my maiden name- I can see you! " made me return to the land of physics.

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