It's A Chefs Life

         Television has sugar coated and if not in some cases glorified what it means to be a chef. I was a chef for a very long time and I think for all of those budding chefs out there you should read before you consider a career that will drag you into the pits of despair.


         So you're a budding young chef are you? You have watched Masterchef and become inspired by the colours, panache and finesse that goes into every plate. Well I suggest you start recording every episode because you are going to need something to watch at 1am when you return home from work and all that is available on television is shopping channels, the third re-run of family guy and the news but with a little fellow in the corner who looks a bit like a pervert who is waving his hands way too much. I think the first fact you need to face is, You better like washing up and cutting up salad! You will be doing this for a very long time but this isn't the only trauma you have to face. You see in the catering world, there is no such thing as bullying. It's more priming you to become a vicious tongued, crazy person who cares not for the politically correct.


       You will on a daily basis be so exhausted your legs will start to make you believe they no longer like you. You will hold more scars than Charlie Bronson and get used to the phrase. "You look tired!" you will not only feel tired but you will also realise that your week is not coming to and end. You may have seen the angry shouting and ranting of the television chef from time to time. This is not usually the case. In fact you will usually only see this at 2 points.

Point One: You have cleaned down the entire kitchen and 2 minutes before you are about to leave for the comfort of your sofa and whisky bottle, some absolute moron will order a well done steak.

Point Two: If you have forgotten to do the food order for the busiest day of the week and the head chef finds out.

Apart from these two things it's pretty much anything goes. Now do you like Redbull? if not give it a week and a can of this silver coated battery acid will seem like Taylor Swift just Snapchatted a picture of her Garden of Eden. Like your food? Not any more you don't. You will eat sandwiches, crisps and sweets, This is now your diet! Ask yourself how do you react to practical jokes? I am not talking cling film on the toilet either. I am talking a whole team of people who dedicate their entire working life to not only find your inner most fears but exploit them at every turn. Don't like spiders? You will find them in your shoes, your car and you may even find yourself covered in them by some of the more dedicated and creative of chefs.


      Now you got into this for fancy and pretentious food right? WRONG you will cook what's on the menu, you will cook it fast, you will make sure it doesn't poison anybody and then you will throw a trees worth of parsley on it and call it garnish! Now the important part, the waitresses/waiters. Just do NOT even bother, you cannot have a relationship with these people. They are trained liars! They are actually paid and trained to be truly nice to everybody but as you know they are wonderful to the guests, the moment they step into that kitchen, it is like somebody urinated in their pockets and told them it's raining!

This is a true introduction into your first steps into catering. If a chef tells you he is happy, he is lying. The words term 'Happy Chef' is as oxymoronic as the term 'Honest Woman'

Ps You will bleed, A lot!

Why Orlando Bloom broke my Ankle!

Laying on the bed feeling a wave of fear overcome me, I look towards the nameless female who has made her way to a computer. The fear gradually turns to a curios confusion, as I ask myself ‘Where the hell am I? who the hell is that? and what in the name of Thor’s hammer have I done!.

"Good Morning Colin" The girl, (which is a term I use loosely at the moment due to voice that resembles Lou Ferigno with a throat infection) husks. Another wave of fear consumes me, which in retrospect should have been my first indication that something is wrong; this girl cannot even remember my name is Rob! I mean what a catch! After what could have been my best performance she thinks my name is Colin! Colin! I mean seriously who is called Colin?! Usually your dad’s best friend who you call uncle Colin who is far to fond of tickling you! Yeah, that's right. That's Colin.

"Morning...Um, oh Fu.... La, Em," look for clues, look for clues! You are in her room, she has photos everywhere, there must be a name! for the love of HA!

"Morning You...How are you feeling" I ask with an edge of cockiness as if to say “did I rock your world?” whilst thinking myself some sort of lothario.

“My name is Sammy!,” she glowers, “In case you needed a clue it’s written there in rainbow colours on the wall!"

HOW THE HELL DID I MISS THAT!!! it wasn't exactly subtle

"I'm googling you" she mutters

"what?"

"I am googling you!" she repeats.

Panic washes over me (what the hell did I do?).

I clamber out of the small, stale-sheeted single bed and make my way over to the computer and glance at the screen, on which the search bar simply reads;

‘COLIN BLOOM!’

Google displayed 15,000,000 results and pictures of a middle aged man that you absolutely would not let babysit your children. It all came rushing back to me. I knew what the hell I had done!

I was usually able to remain calm but this moment I was slightly panicked as I looked at the screen again I noticed a second and third tab open! Daily Mirror Submit your story tab three THE SUN TELL US YOUR TALE. I knew I had to make an escape and quick. My mind flashed over the entire night before

***

The pub, the music, mainly the alcohol and the question that Jonesy had asked me, "so, who to are you gonna be tonight?" in his low Newport accent.

You see we used to play this game, that almost never worked. You pretend to be related to somebody famous and then your friend attempts to befriend the DJ then he convinces the DJ to join in the game and announce the famous person’s relative is in the room.

The plan had come together perfectly that night. I was Colin Bloom, Orlando Bloom’s half brother (that he probably doesn't even have) and ten minutes after the announcement one person, one lonely rotund woman, with crossed eyes and a weird toe, approached me, kissed me and asked me to leave with her.

I spun fables that would make Aesop proud! how me and O (Of course being his brother I wouldn't call him Orlando) play badminton and how we were always being hounded by the press and how I had recently been photographed with a woman whose name I wouldn't mention, (mainly because I was too inebriated to think that quickly. She looked so impressed, I started to believe my own crap. It was all there like the night was flashing before my eyes. I will refrain from reminiscing the intimate details, mainly because, as far as my recollection goes, it was short and very scary, I remember hearing things that I haven’t heard since Linda Blair had a crucifix in hand.

***

I looked around, I had absolutely no idea where the hell I was. I knew I was in Bristol and in a room that had the aroma of feet and pizza and I needed to get out, ASAP.

This woman was aggressive looking and I’m sure I remember her telling me she recently won a darts trophy.

“Erm,” I'd forgotten to look at the wall again.

"Sammy!" she growled in a voice that was thickening to a point that was beginning to sound like the Kurgan from Highlander.

“Yes, I know," I said, (another lie) "Where's the bathroom?”

"Out of here second door to the left.”

Now was my chance, only one problem now remained, I am naked and I cannot locate my clothes. Problem.

"You wouldn't have happened to have seen my clothes this morning?" I asked.

“Oh yes, they're down the side of the bed, Don't worry though there’s nobody in so just walk around as you are, not planning on running off now are you Colin?"

I will be honest at this point I felt that the question she just asked was uttered in a tone that lead me to think she really meant "If you try and leave, I will find you, curse your offspring and bite off your winky in your sleep."

I have no problem admitting my fear, as I answered "No, Just need a tinkle" I mean who says tinkle apart from dad’s over-tickly friend! I was becoming a Colin! The moment I walked out of the feetapizzaria I found myself on a weird small corridor, naked and looking for a solution. I tried the first door to the left, It was open. Phew!

I walked in to a tidy room that smelt like vanilla (I always find the scent of vanilla distracting).

Focus I need clothes. On the end of the bed were some denim shorts and a t-shirt, I was desperate, cold and I needed clothes so I scooped them up, along with ankle socks from the base of the bed and headed to the bathroom.

Okay, Get it together Rob, let's be methodical! Get dressed.

So I squeezed into the denim shorts and T-shirt.

Upon realising the denim shorts are size 8 girls hot-pants, and I have on a big fat gypsy wedding belly top, I start to wonder if the day could get any worse. I snook out of the bathroom and made my way to the nearest exit. I try the door to my left. It's locked. I need a key! By this time I am almost giving up on atheism and ready to begin praying until I realise whilst looking out of the window on the kitchenette that I have found myself in, that I am not that high up.

I have a lightbulb moment; back to the room where I acquired the clothes. I quietly open the door and hmmm Vanilla! Stop it! I head for the window I open it as far as I can but it only opens about 16 inches. I take a deep breath step onto a rickety bed side cabinet and start to lower myself without thinking of the consequences.

About five minutes later I find myself regretting this decision. "It didn't look this high from the kitchen" I am hanging out of a first floor window fifteen feet above the ground wearing a belly top with All This and Blonde too written across the centre and a pair of hot-pants that are now revealing a testicle and what seems to be a crowd of students with Iphones tweeting and hashtagging my left nut! Surely this was it, my low point. As quick as that thought tiptoed across my mind "OI! What the Hell are you doing" It was the call of the Kurgan! I had no choice! I had to drop, I thought happy thoughts and prayed for some kind of help as I fell.

I landed and hit the ground. Not thinking about the pain, I started to do some kind of weird Quasimodo like run as my legs wouldn’t quite work properly. I just legged it and hoped for the best. I looked like the worlds worst drag queen as my panic started to subside and I was walking down what was now a quite busy Bristol high street that seemed completely focused on me. As I limped through the town I breathed with relief. I could see my hotel, the discount Travel Lodge. It looked so beautiful like a close-by, Lenny Henry endorsed nirvana. I felt a slight ease come over myself until I suddenly thought about one more thing. I had what was possibly a broken ankle, a bruise the size of a house-brick on my behind, I'd lost my clothes, my phone and my wallet all because of an elaborate lie. I had to stop.

I made a pact with myself, I will never lie to a woman again.

How Movie Obsessions got me arrested

I remember as if it were yesterday some of the wise words of my father growing up, he always had something to say and it usually sounded completely insane. For instance; I must have been no older than 5 when may father graced me with his first memorable words of wisdom;

“Son, when you get older you are going to find a woman but if you come home and find that she has suddenly developed the ability to sit on a broomstick and take flight, that my boy is a warning sign!”

My dad was a very blunt man, short in height with hair that added on about three inches, he looked very much like Sylvester Stallone in cobra, Especially when he got experimental and decided highlights were the way forward, he very quickly died these out though days later with a Grecian 2000 black shine hair dye and closely resembled the man from Soul Glo in coming to America every time it rained.

My dad had everything figured out and always had an uncanny ability to bring a smile to my face even if some of the things he came out with were completely crazy. If I had to pick a top 5 things my dad has said.

• Look! O.J Simpson on every channel! I'm a bloody fully grown man! Why would I want to watch cartoons.
• When asked “Do you want a bag for that sir?” replied “No you're alright son, I've got one” whilst directing his head in my step mothers direction
• Whilst Watching the matrix “You'd think he could have thought of a better name than Neil”
• David Copperfield the magician or the one from Charles Dixon
• On receiving his first ever text message. It's like a letter and a phone call all wrapped into one!

I loved my dads sense of humour, It was a little twisted at times and when I think of him and some of the lessons he taught me it takes me back to being 12 years old. I was a scrawny little streak of nothing, with ears that made me look like a wing-nut and obsessed with the world of cinema. I had three favourite films. The Rock, Mission Impossible and Con Air. Mission impossible being my movie of choice as every kid wants to be a spy at some point right? I vividly remember this one Saturday morning, mid June and my friend Mike had came around to see if I wanted to play football, we used to play on the grounds of my old school and then hide the ball and pretend to be Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible!

After an hour or so of pretending to play football and reaching the conclusion there was nobody about, it was time for our mission Which We had already chosen to accept. We had stashed a socket wrench set and some heavy duty rope from my dads garage in the bushes. We proceeded to the roof, now before judging you have to admire the creativity of two twelve year old boys for the next part, I mean we had already prepared ourselves with hairspray to detect any lasers that may cause us problems and maybe delay the task in hand. We proceeded to remove the skylight window and attached the rope to a protruding part of the roof. The other part of the rope was lassoed around my waste encroaching very uncomfortably into my area. It was time! Mike began to lower me down as I sprawled out mimicking some odd star fish in the air, it was kind of like the snowman just without the slushy at the end. As I found myself about five feet off the ground, I felt something I'd never felt before as I heard a voice say,

“What the hell are you doing?”

I felt my rear cavity close up to the size of a small ant and Mike had heard it too, he at this point dropped the rope and obviously ran, I fell to the floor, right before the legs of a Policeman. He was a tall, intimidating man and I had no idea what the hell to do. So I got onto my knees and thought, I know! I put my hands above my head; I had recently watched bad boys and that is exactly what the bad guys had to do. He shook his head and scooped me up. I remember basically being dragged out of a door and then for some reason I asked the policeman if he would let me go if I gave him my sweets. 12 years old and I think I am some sort of autistic Godfather by trying to buy off a copper with cola cubes and daddies herbals.

The next thing I know me and Mike are in the back of a police car and I turn to Mike and ask him.

“Do you think we can pick these locks?”

Knowing full well neither of us had practiced this yet, we'd just about mastered hitting a balloon with our Fk1077112's (elastic band shotgun to normal humans). We tried to reason with the police, in retrospect my reasoning technique wasn't wise, I tried humour with a touch of charm and blurted out.

“If you can let us go, I will tell you were the Bombs are” and chuckled to myself.

Luckily enough this was pre 911 and I only knew about bombs because I had watched face-off not long before.

Before long we were at the local police station, the fear that was now overwhelming was slightly overshadowed by our pride that we thought we were going to be interviewed by government agents turns out that was far from the case and the only thing we actually got close to whilst at the station was whilst being interviewed, there was a bad cop but the other guy wasn't a good cop, He was equally as much an ass as the first.

Now there is this thing with me, it still exists today, I may sometimes not know when to quit, this was certainly one of those times. When the red button was pressed and the tape started recording after every question asked I would strictly only answer.

“Cartwright 201084”

You see I also loved war films, I thought the name and number thing applied to police stations as well as P.O.W camps. I kept this up for a good half an hour until they marched me to a cell and slammed the door behind me, only after I had of course snapped out of my gulf war syndrome.

After about two hours of being incarcerated and doing push-ups whilst only stopping to check if my hair was growing at the rate of Cameron Poe in Con Air, The door finally opened and my dad was on the other side. I remember the look on his face as I explained exactly what me and mike had been doing. I recall his face holding back a grin and the as the father he was, and not wanting me to get myself into further trouble he chose to lay upon me this.

“Son, I have spoken to the copper outside, I am going to be honest, as your dad it's only fair. It doesn't look good. You are looking at 5 years in a youth offenders.”

My heart almost stopped and my eyes well up, he knew he had me so being a loving father he carried on.

“You have to prepare yourself, nobody is going to look after you and you are only small so you will almost certainly get bummed, just try and relax though because if you fight they might like it.”

Stony faced he looked at me and my lip was going and as my face was ready to explode into a well of tears, He stood up, headed towards the door and said.

“Now get up, lets go home. Never ever get in trouble with the police again and most importantly DO NOT tell your mother, you know she gets all Deidre Barlow about these things.”

Never Fake a Fatal Illness

So we all get ourselves into sticky situations sometimes right? As you have probably guessed this happened to me a fair amount of times of the last 30 years. It isn't as if I go looking for trouble. Sometimes I have an honest heart and then all of a sudden a metaphorical bomb hits me and my sense of morality was thrown in the bin.

I have obviously been in many pickles throughout my life and I am talking about general life difficulty now, rather than my life and its series of unfortunate events. When I think about difficulties I really just think about one time. November 2005, I was 20 years old, fresh faced and cocky, in a relationship and just moved into a new house. Trouble was I couldn't really afford this house on my salary and really needed a second Job.

At this time in my life I was a chef and not a bad one, just catering didn't pay too well and I was terrible with finances. I knew I needed a second job but I had one of those moments where I stopped and thought, I know! I will get a job in IT, Basically because my dad thought I was a computer genius due to the fact I could copy and paste without using a mouse. So I decided it was high time I brushed up my CV to include some of my other acquired skills (I had literally just that moment acquired them)I embellished and polished some turds here and there and deleted every catering job, consequently replacing them all with mid-profile IT jobs at low end businesses. I distributed my CV to a few requestees on the job centre website and sat tight with disillusioned hope.

About 3 weeks later, to my absolute disbelief I had managed to pull off an interview. A letter sat waiting for me upon my return from the restaurant, it was from south Staffordshire water inviting me for an interview! This was it I thought! No more kitchen crap for me. Over the coming days, only having 5 to prepare, I prepared myself, practicing answering questions. I even brought a brand new suit and before I knew it the big day had arrived.

I remember the day so clearly and for reasons that will become obvious quite soon. I recall the smell of urine and weed on the bus and the sweat on my palms, before I knew it I was in a waiting room ready to be seen but feeling pretty calm at this point. I was called into the interview room, it was a large office quite dark and sitting opposite me were 3 sour faced middle aged gentlemen who infused fear and faeces together, pushed them up into my stomach along with my testicle and one grunted sit.

Now as far as my recollection to this goes the first 15 minutes of the interview went swimmingly, I remember saying to myself at one point.

“keep calm and don't mess this up and you've got this job”

All of a sudden a bomb shell and I am not talking a small bombshell, I am talking an A-Bomb falling directly onto my crotch! It started with this question.

“Tell us about ASP. NET”

Now the problem lay within. I had absolutely no chuffing idea what he was talking about. Now most people in this situation have only two options. Option one, Answer honestly that you don't know and hope for the best or alternatively, option two, make up an answer and hope for the best. Now I think even you yourselves can know that instantly I decided on option two but, do you know how we all have that little voice inside our head? Now do not get this voice confused with the one that told Ted Bundy to start collecting hammers. I am talking about that reasonable voice that offers little words of wisdom in our greatest times of need. Well my friendly voice, decided to poke in his big fat nose right as I was about to make up an answer.

“Psst, OI! Rob. It's me your rational side” I heard it say

my internal monologue responded

“What? It's kind of a bad time!”

it had no interest in how bad a time it was it proceeded

“Well, you know how you are thinking about making up an answer?”

“Yes” I excitedly said back

“Well, I have a third option, because if you make up an answer, you're going to look like an ass!” it said proudly

“Ok...let's hear it”

“Well, I want you to fake a stroke! You remember the advert”

now I remember thinking what an awful idea, but unfortunately whether or not I thought it was a bad idea or not I had already started to slur my speech, drool and allow my arm to start to fall. Oh my Christ!! What am I doing I thought! Trouble was I had started so I had to complete now. Think back to the advert.

F that was face, check. A That was arm, S that was speech. I started to slur and drool a little just to add some conviction. T oh crap, what was t. Then again that bloody voice.

“T throw yourself on the floor”

The next thing I knew, I was in the back on an ambulance, The interview panel were following behind. I had got myself into some situations but I am in an ambulance, pretending to be catatonic and it's quite difficult because at the moment I am being poked and prodded by two paramedics. When we arrived at the hospital I was subject to an array of tests and I had no shortage of support from what now seemed to be my best friends the interview panel and I needed to get out of here. Surely this has to be slightly illegal I remember deliberating. I had to pick my moment perfectly whilst still trying to fake having some weird sort of locked in syndrome but in reality, I still had a little panic in case these guys were just with me to see if I knew the answer to the question.

Two hours later, yes that's right I lay there for two hours! There was just one left. I heard the magic words.

“I am going to have a cigarette, but I will be right back”

He finally left the room, as quickly as I could I scooped up my shoes and darted for an exit. I ran like the wind, I ran and ran with a feeling of guilt and exhilaration. I finally found myself walk in the front door where upon I was asked just one question.

“Well, How did it go?” Lisa asked full of enthusiasm

the only response I gave was

“I didn't get it, I think I was over-qualified to be honest”

The How to Guide for the Socially Awkward

       

          As some may have guessed I am not a stand out, fits into societies norms kind of guy. In fact I am terrifically awkward. So I have decided to compile a series of how to manage in seemingly normal situations that the awkward among us may appreciate.

Riding A Bus

       Now I know you are already thinking what a pile of nonsense, do read on. Getting on a bus is possibly one of the most awkward scenarios for a socially challenged person, There is a thought process involved that challenges the mind at every turn. First and foremost you are presented with waiting for the bus. Now do you sit down? Well this depends on who is already sitting down. If for instance seated and hunched smelling of stale urine is a nervous looking pensioner. You may only sit dependent on how you are dressed. If you are heading to town in a pair of comfortable trousers and a hooded top. BEWARE! This lady has only 3 pleasures in life, Tea, Meals on Wheels and Crimewatch. Trust me when I say the moment you sit, old Mildred will then clutch to her back as if it contained the last of the rationed butter in 1941. Now dependent on your location you have to mind your surroundings. In my local area we have people that encroach upon our bus stops. They are unidentifiable, They are seemingly you and extremely Caucasian at first glance but when they speak, oh boy! They talk about bears and blood an awful lot. It's beyond me and they have a fetish for stabbing people up! I believe we should have these humans eradicated possibly some new strain of myxomatosis and let them wipe each other out. 

      A new conundrum awaits with the arrival of the bus, providing you are already waiting for it. I personally guarantee if you are not you will miss it. How do I know? Well as soon as you start to run for the bus the driver spots you in the worlds biggest mirror. Waits for you to almost make it and think, this time I have you. He will then proceed to close the doors and move the bus 4 inches from the platform, looking at you only to gesture that he cannot open the doors as he has pulled out already. Bus drivers the world over. You will pay for this. One day your bus will break down and you will require assistance. I will approach you as if to help, tell you I know the problem and then kick you in the shins before I walk away smiling.  Anyway, now the bus has arrived and you are being British and doing what every good Brit does, You have formed a queue. Hold on a moment there is a swarm of morons just pushing there way on to the bus. You deal with this in the appropriate way. The only way there is. You tut! you tut at each and every one of them.

      So you make it on to your rush hour bus but you are now faced with the ultimate in problems you have to sit next to a person. This is a choice that should not be just rushed into. This person is going to be your companion for what could be the entire journey. Never and I mean never sit next to the person wearing the Bluetooth headset, he will be a loud, obnoxious idiot who wants to announce his enormous success to the whole bus, my friend here is a PTT (a Public Transport Tosser) avoid at all costs. Also I may add DO NOT sit next to the attractive girl, She is more than likely going to start doing her makeup and will get very elbow unfriendly. The most important person to avoid on a bus is the person who looks like he is talking on the phone but in fact, he does not own a phone. He is clinically insane and believe me when I say this, There is one on every bus and he IS the reason people put bags on the seat next to them. My suggestion look for the person who is sitting on the outside seat with a carrier bag or two. They will be getting off soon and you can enjoy your journey.

     If I may add at this point after 9pm do not sit at the back of the bus. Once somebody asked me for a lighter and then took out a spoon. I know it was Birmingham but that was a little bit too much. Finally under absolutely no circumstance get on a bus with an angry looking driver. He will drive like an insane person, open his doors only to swear at other drivers and stop at every other stop to read his bloody newspaper.

That was my guide to riding a bus.   

My Fifteen Minutes

The year was 1995. I was a young, boisterous and In no way a charming young man. I was still developing my humour and was at this point just edging into wanting some of that sought after limelight every class clown desires.

One fine, beautiful Monday.  I define it as a fine and beautiful day as on that day we were allowed to play on the grass. Nothing worse than a wet playtime! Back then,  receiving news it was raining when you had been plotting your best hiding spaces for the last hour was tantamount to hearing your dog had died.
Now after this very successful playtime,  it was announced to the class that some people would be monitoring the class. The people would be looking for people to feature on a CBBC television show and the would pick some of us at the end of the day and interview us. Well this was it! My time to shine. I held my head so high and gave beautiful answers with vigour and confidence.

Would you believe it, two days later my parents got got a phone call asking me to do a phone interview so I could give answers to question they would be asking about me for the show. I stood, raised my pointy chin and held out my hand as if I were a king summoning maids to my chamber. Everything about my stance yelled.
"Hand me the telephonic device father.  My people need me."
Now the question they asked me apart from the obvious was this. "So, Rob what is your favourite animal?"
To this I responded honestly
"My favourite animal is a tiger"
Oh, why do you love tigers they asked, obviously looking for a quick answer whilst trying to stump me.
"Well, I think tigers are amazing predators, the way they use there surroundings and manage to camouflage so well to hunt is such a clever thing."
WHAM!  Take that CBBC.  Impressed they were either that or left thinking. . Do tigers actually camouflage or do they just make and kill whatever near?

The big day finally arrived. I was ready. Proud dad in the audience. Nervous children all around. For some reason not me. The lights, the cameras. It was my time to shine,  I just had to pick my moment perfectly.  If I could just make one person see. Then maybe, just maybe I'd make it big. I could do Home and Away. I loved that show!
Filming began and we gone through all the testers and sound checks and we had come to filming the tell us about you segment of the show. This was where I was going to take my moment. With honour with pride, with all my work on speaking colloquial English I waited and it came.
"So Rob, your favourite animal. It's actually my favourite animal too. Tell us what is it? Say a young innocent Mark Evans
"Well Mark, I love tigers" I say. looking for my dad in the audience I notice a nervous man and then the second part of that question arrives..
"So why do you like tigers?"
I thought to myself, original answer? or do I go a little drama on this? so naturally I chose this.
"Well Mark, I love tigers basically because they eat people. You know they tear apart the flesh in seconds and just devour whatever they want. My dad says my mom had this ability too"
His face dropped. My dad's jaw widened the room went silent for what was a very long moment until all of a sudden, being the professional he was.
"And on with the show"
Now to my ultimate disappointment.  They cut my reason down but I still won. As when the question, why do you like tigers came the answer they managed to cut to was.
"They eat people"
Cut to shocked father. Angry teacher and therapy for a year because everybody things I'm obsessed with death.

It's all about education right?

So on initial glimpse some of you may recognize the image above, some may not. I have included this image for the purposes of going back to where It all began, the realization that the things I said not only sometimes caused shock but could make a select few people laugh. The image above was a still from a sketch from a British TV show called Brass Eye. Now I used to love this show and at the tender age of 12, being fresh faced and newly inserted into high school, accompanied by a somewhat sick if not a slightly more open sense of humour than most of my student counterparts. I chose to repeat at school phrase by phrase what I found so amusing. Here was that scene that tickled my twisted funny bone.

Even now Just posting the video I still cry laughing. Upon retorting what I had heard. I found myself staring into a sea of blank dead eyed stares from students who had no idea what the hell I was talking about and teachers who stood upright, mouths open and shocked as if I had just urinated on their parents. I was quickly taken to one side by a few teachers one of which my P.E teacher. Now I am not being funny but this guy could not lecture me on using the word Paedophile. I am pretty sure he was one, please before you jump up and hang him. He wasn't a dangerous one. He was a 90's Paedo. I think all P.E teachers were. he just used to stand on the benches and have a look. He wasn't a 'Toucher' after they asked me what i though a paedophile was, in quite a patronizing way if I may add I chose my response very carefully and decided to throw back at them and said very slowly.
"A paedophile..is...a...grown....up...that..puts...things...inside..somebody..that...is...not...grown...up"
Apparently this was far too cheeky and deserved a day at home thinking about what I had done, they sent me home with a letter for my father to sign. Which he did, only using my hand.

I think that this was all where it began. I mean we all have a class clown but I was not the class clown. I used to work, complete the work and then go off on a complete tangent drawing whatever attention to myself I could. A few weeks later I had a quiet period as I had been arrested as you read about in the cream mile but that's besides the point. By now I was starting to gather an audience, I had a good group of friends and they were usually mightily impressed by my ability to do voices and accents but I always knew I had to step up the stakes and make things more risque. Trouble was this wasn't a conscious decision it was more a natural progression. I was to find that this progression would only cause further issues.

Shortly after I discovered that I was a slightly inappropriate teen, I found that the teachers were starting to clamp down on my outbursts especially after the riots of 99. Just to add I instigated the riots, I cleverly was not involved and then porn saga. Porn saga was and still is quite amusing. I was approached by the IT teacher and told that I had pornography on my computer, I asked him to prove it. He subsequently showed me a topless model, I offered response.
"That is not porn, if you want to see porn. I can get you porn but it's 5 quid a disc"
I also sold erotica movies to my friends, we all have an entrepreneur in us somewhere and I had found a gap in the market.
I was sent home again! This time my dad had to come and get me. He was furious, apparently if I had cut him in on the movie selling we could have made twice as much! oh and I wasn't to tell my step mom.

I had to stop getting myself removed from school, I loved the learning. I just felt like I was misunderstood so I discovered the charity concert! That's right. Inspired by Geldof himself I knew what I had to do. So every year I organised and hosted a charity even which I knew people would pay for (because 50p for a ticket that gets you out of class for an hour! what student wouldn't buy that?) So began Cherry Aid! every year I would save up and write down every insult I could muster up and unleash them on the teachers. One year in fact my history teacher had made my life hell so I mentioned his divorce and how I thought he was possibly sleeping with the head of year, turns out he was but couldn't really stop a charity concert now could he?

So I believe the education system taught me a lot. Mainly if you're going to say inappropriate things, people will get upset. Just make sure you do it in a wide enough audience that the ones who don't like it are drowned out by the laughter of those that do.