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Year 7's on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag's brung a Coca-Cola bottle containing a spirit |
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Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny brass bedknob |
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And has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital |
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Si Shovell fills a Reebok pump with the pulp from his belly then sets off a fire-extinguisher in the girl's dormitory |
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And finally clambers into bed with Miss Bartholomew |
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Much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster whose scarlet skull is firmly locked between her thighs |
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I only drank a few little droplets |
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I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff |
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Downing Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogs |
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I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet bowl |
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My A-Levels drifting away from me |
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Matthew Mooney's hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs |
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Outside the chip-shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone |
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3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXX go rolling down my trouser leg |
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Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails |
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My friends drifting away from me |
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I only drank a few little droplets |
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I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff |
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Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriver |
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I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop |
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It's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon |
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I come around with the tube still down my throat |
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The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole I go |
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Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire of my fellow patients wagging their ladles in the dark |
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My neighbor Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffy-cross |
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Whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bag |
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He's a junior partner at James & james no-win no-fee solicitor thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax |
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He reckons I should try meditation |
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He reckons it would benefit my peace of mind |
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My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United |
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Between which I perceive the presence of a horse-headed figure holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes |
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He is the King of Children singing like a boiler, "tomorrow is on its way" |
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I haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge |
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I'm starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth College |
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My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro clogging up the keys of my MacBook |
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Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils |
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Ruck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith to buy a fresh pad of paper |
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I only drank a few little droplets |
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I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff |