Canterbury Blade
Active Member
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2014
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So, let’s draw a tale here.
She is the best looking bird all through school. Everyone fancies her. 5th form disco Me and me saddo mates look on, wearing our pods, farahs and apprentice mullets. If she glanced over in her ra ra skirt it was worth a thousand in the wank bank.
She goes to Granville/ Shirecliffe or Richmond college to do beauty/ hairdressing/ art therapy and finds she is in the big league. Still good, no doubts from the lads, but Lynsey from Notre Dame and big Hazel from City also look pretty hot on the dance floor at Romeos. But this is the big league now. It’s no longer school corridors and Mr Cousins asking if you’re all right and the youth club being your oyster.. but there’s hope
You then pull an older boyfriend. He’s been about a bit, a bit older. Got a job. Got an XR3i. A veteran of the YTS. A face in the Limit, a boy on West St Terrace, a regular in The Lansdowne, known in The Tramway and he has a pre 92 Stone Island jacket with the green badge and all the right stitching
It’s all looking good.
But actually that early promise is all you have. You talk a good talk, a good talk with the girls when you relive that night in Marbs/Kavos/Ingoldmells but actually it will never be the same.
The stretch marks show, the high cheeks have sunk, that bright laugh has gone and you’re alone on the 56 to Wybourn…
Yes there is a few quid in your pocket and you have your memories as a teenager when you’re now sat in the WMC or The Manor Castle/White Lion/Chantrey/Byron/Cricketers/Lord Nelson/Penny Black..
And that face, well he has moved on. The early promise was fantastic. But you’ve put on a few, the moves ain’t so slick, moments of course but just that moments and his eye has wandered. Is it worth the hassle, the grief, the angst…?
So, you lose the face. You bank the money and your life is spent telling everyone how good you were at the school disco, how from The Cremorne to The Hermitage you never bought a drink.
But sometimes, just sometimes. Its time to stop pretending. Look yourself in the mirror and either walk away or say I will prove you all wrong…
Please just give us a flash of all those hopes, prove me wrong and realise all those dreams and repay a few IOU’s in the ‘bank’..
Up to you really…
She is the best looking bird all through school. Everyone fancies her. 5th form disco Me and me saddo mates look on, wearing our pods, farahs and apprentice mullets. If she glanced over in her ra ra skirt it was worth a thousand in the wank bank.
She goes to Granville/ Shirecliffe or Richmond college to do beauty/ hairdressing/ art therapy and finds she is in the big league. Still good, no doubts from the lads, but Lynsey from Notre Dame and big Hazel from City also look pretty hot on the dance floor at Romeos. But this is the big league now. It’s no longer school corridors and Mr Cousins asking if you’re all right and the youth club being your oyster.. but there’s hope
You then pull an older boyfriend. He’s been about a bit, a bit older. Got a job. Got an XR3i. A veteran of the YTS. A face in the Limit, a boy on West St Terrace, a regular in The Lansdowne, known in The Tramway and he has a pre 92 Stone Island jacket with the green badge and all the right stitching
It’s all looking good.
But actually that early promise is all you have. You talk a good talk, a good talk with the girls when you relive that night in Marbs/Kavos/Ingoldmells but actually it will never be the same.
The stretch marks show, the high cheeks have sunk, that bright laugh has gone and you’re alone on the 56 to Wybourn…
Yes there is a few quid in your pocket and you have your memories as a teenager when you’re now sat in the WMC or The Manor Castle/White Lion/Chantrey/Byron/Cricketers/Lord Nelson/Penny Black..
And that face, well he has moved on. The early promise was fantastic. But you’ve put on a few, the moves ain’t so slick, moments of course but just that moments and his eye has wandered. Is it worth the hassle, the grief, the angst…?
So, you lose the face. You bank the money and your life is spent telling everyone how good you were at the school disco, how from The Cremorne to The Hermitage you never bought a drink.
But sometimes, just sometimes. Its time to stop pretending. Look yourself in the mirror and either walk away or say I will prove you all wrong…
Please just give us a flash of all those hopes, prove me wrong and realise all those dreams and repay a few IOU’s in the ‘bank’..
Up to you really…
