Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Bog Standard

Terry Baker undid  the buckles of his armour plated jerkin and shook himself free.  Phil called out after him "gosh tez you have got big muscles" as he skipped out the door towards the shower block. These days life at Bog Stands (short for Bog Standard's) was getting duller and duller which pleased the boys no end. In a world bursting to the seams with magic and coincidence each of them had previously lain in their beds dreaming of the mundane - the chance to pass the time with a simple worthwhile task like mining for coal or breaking rocks or labeling envelopes even. To remind himself of simpler times Terry had kept a stash of look and learn comics handed down to him from his particularly straight forward uncle Eric who had worked as a store detective by day and was a scout master of a Tuesday and Friday evenings. Now of course no one knew what a reef knot was let alone a round turn and two half hitches. This was clearly, Terry thought, due to the saturation of life with the mythical powers of the beyond which had come with Johnson's discovery that it wasn't just gravity that was leaking from the eleventh dimension. There was also a steady drip drip drip of magic which until Johnson's now legendary triple slot experiments of 2009 had gone largely unnoticed by the vast majority of earths inhabitants and any dampness caused by said dripping was often actively dismised as the manifestation of ignorance brought out by superstitious morons trying to explain scientific phenomenon they didn't understand.
Young Terry was familiar with this line of argument from the science classes at Bog Stands. These filled his mind with leaden gravity defining insights which brought about a heaviness of heart - a feeling he had once thought had been swept away for ever by the deluge of eleventh dimensional forces once Johnson had removed the metaphorical finger from the dyke. His eyes glazed with pride as he stripped off the rest of his mining gear which still unfortunately  retained the Elizabethen stylings demanded by  the modern day magick obsessed populous and he trudged off to join the others in the shower block. Mr. Jones the sports master would hopefully greet him with a slipper on the buttocks and he relished this moment of thinly disguised bullying especially now that it was common practise to love your enemies at comprehensive schools. (to be cont)

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