Spud (43 page)

Now this is the kind of advice I’d been waiting for! I downed my last few sips of wine and sank back into the
couch feeling relieved – damn, life’s good when you aren’t dragging a huge burden of guilt around on your back!

We watched the first (of many hours) of Lawrence of Arabia until The Guv fell asleep in his rocker. I switched off the TV, covered him with a blanket and left quietly by the back door.

01:15   Seems like Earthworm can no longer fall asleep without me. I have convinced him that midnight showers are the surest way to bring on sleep. While he showers I throw his rancid clothes into the laundry bag, make his bed, prepare some toast – and then when he returns, I talk to him until he nods off. This little ritual works a treat for him but is playing havoc with my own sleeping patterns.

14:30   There was a real sense of purpose during our cricket practice today. At last, the big day is approaching – Saturday is Kings College. And there isn’t a hope in hell that we’re going to surrender our unbeaten record without a vicious fight.

The Guv was all business and barked advice at us from under his wide brimmed cricket hat while perched like a sharp-eyed falcon on his shiny metallic shooting stick. He looked to be back to his usual good form and showed no signs of depression or madness after his fight with his wife yesterday. He puffed on his pipe like it was his oxygen and contemplated our net practice like some old philosopher brewing up some famous quote that will exist forever. (This perfect picture was periodically ruined by spells of vile abuse, mostly targeted at Mad Dog and myself.)

Gecko paraded some ghastly looking capsules in front of us and told us that this was his anti-malaria medication. He reckons he has to take them because
Mozambique (where he’s going for the long weekend) is a mosquito and malaria cesspool. There was some debate over whether the giant pills were capsules or suppositories. Julian, who was on lights out duty, told us that they were suppositories and offered to apply the dose to Gecko’s butt. Gecko politely declined and quickly hid the hideous looking pills in a shoebox at the bottom of his footlocker.

Gavin, the prefect under the stairs, has returned to school looking a bit yellow. He’s decided not to share his bed with Celeste the puffadder any longer. Rambo’s so scared of it that he’s trying to poison it with dead lizards soaked in rat poison. So far the snake hasn’t shown any negative side effects and looks quite happy in its cage.

Boggo reckons that Sparerib has threatened to divorce Eve unless she stops shagging Rambo. Apparently Eve broke the news to Rambo last night before their final bonk. Boggo reckons Eve could get thrown in jail for having sex with a minor.

I have been asked to sing the solo from Once in Royal David’s City at the carol service at the end of the year. Judging by the huge applause from the rest of the choir, this must be some sort of unique honour! I shook hands with people and tried my best to look blown away. (I’m still secretly hoping that my voice will break by then and I can then put my girl’s voice to bed for good.)

Mom phoned to tell me that Blacky has finally captured the Kreepy Krauly and has eaten most of it (including the pipe). Dad rushed the mutt to the vet to have its stomach pumped. Mom said the vet also found a small yo-yo, a child’s rattle and three whiskey
bottle tops in its belly as well. Apparently Blacky looks as happy as Larry, sitting in his basket chewing one of my old school shoes. Mom held the phone out and I could hear crunching noises and then Blacky licking the phone. I called his name and he barked loudly. I think he may just have recognised my voice!

Mom said Wombat also seems to be improving. She’s speaking better and is far more sane than before. She’s now walking steadily without her eye patch, but she still wears it when she goes out as some sort of warped fashion statement.

Although nowhere near the same intensity of the rugby match, the eve of the Kings College cricket game still brings out the butterflies. These are nights when it’s impossible to sleep so the Crazy Eight end up horsing around until the early hours. The evening’s events began rather controversially when Fatty’s attempt to better his own farting record quite literally backfired rather badly. About six seconds into his first attempt there was a terrible squeaking noise, Fatty’s mouth fell open and he galloped out of the dormitory.

We moved on to the topic of girls and sex. Despite still being a spud, I feel more confident in these areas now after the last few months and after parading the Mermaid around the school I’m regarded as something of a dormitory expert on the topic of sex and seduction.

Boggo produced a theory about my recent success with gorgeous women. He reckons I sing like a girl and, with my blond locks, looked like a girl, thus attracting other girls to me – which, according to the wise Lord Boggo, makes all girls lesbians. (Only Boggo and Mad Dog felt that this theory had any merit.)

Rambo said that my success had more to do with the fact that my willy is two inches long and that I’m not
a real man – which makes the girls feel confident and less afraid. Rambo then went on to demonstrate the art of cunnilingus using a close up of a picture from one of Boggo’s porno mags as a demonstration dummy; after which Boggo slipped the porno mag into his dressing gown, said he needed the toilet and disappeared. Mad Dog then jumped in and instructed a horrified Vern on the four different ways to skin a cat. This time Roger was used as the demonstration dummy. Mad Dog carefully traced the lines where he would make his incisions over Roger’s belly with his pocketknife. The sight of the knife sliding across the cat’s fur made me shiver slightly. I ran my fingers down my side and felt the scab that had formed over my own long thin cut.

The moment!

I suppose visitations by ghosts are always a shock and the arrival of Macarthur was no different. At first, all I noticed was Roger’s fur standing on end but thought that maybe he was reacting to Mad Dog’s ‘more than one way of skinning a cat’ workshop. But there it was – a vision with sharp eyes and a moustache. It looked pale and it was difficult to see its exact features in the darkness, but there was a dull white haze about it. I could just see the outline of its face but it all seemed so dreamy and unbelievable that I can’t remember anything specific. The vision seemed to be smiling at us. I was transfixed and judging by the absolute silence in the dorm, so was everybody else. It drifted slowly towards us, still looking cheerful, with its left hand stretched out in a welcoming fashion.

It looked at each of us in turn and then settled its gaze on Gecko. Gecko moaned quietly as the apparition drifted towards him. Then, as if caught in some sort of spell, Gecko stood up and walked forward to meet Macarthur. (By this stage my brain had decided that this
thing was a ghost and this ghost had to be Macarthur.)

Then the most extraordinary thing happened. Macarthur seemed to pass straight through Gecko and disappeared. A window slammed and all was quiet.

There was a scuffling near the door, and a freshly showered Fatty and a relieved Boggo pushed through the doorway. And there they stood. The believer and the cynic had both missed Macarthur.

08:00   The breakfast table was alive with wild talk about demons and ghosts. Fatty was still beside himself that he’d missed Macarthur’s visitation. Boggo remained, as always, cynical. Nobody had quite figured out why Macarthur (if the ghost was really Macarthur) had paid special attention to Gecko. Mad Dog reckoned that Gecko, with his ghostly white skin, might have attracted Macarthur who thought he was a ghost too. Most other boys thought we were having it on and, thanks to the reputation of the Crazy Eight, we were written off as frauds and wirepullers.

I have no doubt that last night we saw Macarthur.

18:30   I wish that I could be writing that we slaughtered Kings College; that we annihilated the miserable sods. I wish I could boast that I took five wickets and hit the winning runs to continue our unbeaten streak. The truth is I can’t.

Despite The Guv’s Agincourt speech (and many others), we were smashed to pieces by Kings, whose rapid opening bowlers tore through our batting like a giant razor-toothed rat through cottage cheese. Once Simon was clean bowled for 31, all hope left us and we collapsed like a brigade of chocolate fireman: 66 all out. A disgrace. I was out LBW to a ball that I didn’t even see for a round zero. I bowled the sum total of one ball that
was smashed for six (the winning runs).

The home team was overjoyed – we were crushed. We sat in the changeroom with our heads down. Nobody said a word. After some time we heard footsteps and the clunk of The Guv’s cane on the concrete paving outside. The door creaked open. The Guv entered, surveyed the scene and then burst into loud cackles of laughter. We looked at him like he was mad (which he is). He then marched around thumping us on the back, saying things like, ‘Come on, old cock, the sun will rise tomorrow.’

By the time we were loaded up on the bus we were singing the school hymn. The singing and chanting lasted all the way back to school, where boys applauded as we got off the bus thinking we had won. We just waved and gave the thumbs up – this wasn’t the time to explain that we barely posted a half-century of runs between us.

We weren’t alone, however. Every single side lost to the mighty Kings College. The First Eleven only managed to total 101 runs and slumped to an eight-wicket defeat.

I pulled my bag out of the bus and staggered back to our haunted dormitory still humming the school hymn and feeling bizzarely happy after our first humiliating defeat.

Gecko decided that he needed to prepare himself for his long weekend in darkest Africa, so he hauled me out of bed at an ungodly hour for an ‘uncensored day of adventure!’

Before reaching Hell’s View, we managed to startle a mountain reedbuck that charged off down the hill whistling in panic. (Strange that an antelope should whistle like a bird.) We devoured our packed breakfast on our favourite vantage point and then set off for some
wild adventuring.

Discoveries on our day of adventure

A green bush snake (non-poisonous, I think)
Three blue-headed lizards
A pheasant (Gecko said it was a partridge)
Vern (who was walking on all fours with Roger in the forest)

We also discovered a grouping of rocks covered in white markings. Gecko was convinced it was an undiscovered painting by the early (and now extinct) San bushmen. I reckoned they were ibis droppings. The debate still rages.

Spent the afternoon chatting about Macarthur and ghosts. Gecko seemed quite chuffed that the ghost had singled him out for special attention. He reckons if Macarthur comes again, he’ll try and chat to him. Maybe even ask him if he was murdered.

Bert has put his back out after giving Julian a piggyback ride to dinner. Simon says Julian was seen rubbing Bert’s back with deep heat in the common room.

The moment was quite unbelievable. A crowd of boys in the bathroom. In the middle lay Pike, dazed and mumbling in agony. His left eye had swelled to the size of a cricket ball and Julian (fast becoming the house Florence Nightingale) was about to apply an ice pack. Standing to one side was a drenched Vern (looking like Rain Man) with a trickle of blood running from his knuckles on his right hand. At his feet Roger was meowing and headbutting his ankle.

It didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that Vern
had just knocked Pike’s lights out.

16:00   As a reward, I bought Vern a hotdog at the tuck shop. He was thrilled and shook my hand formally. He then took the sausage out of the roll and broke it up into tiny bits for Roger to eat. Finally, my mad cubicle mate scoffed down his plain roll and without uttering another word, shook my hand again and walked off with Roger trailing behind with his tail raised heavenward.

Our house television has been stolen. Luthuli was so outraged that he couldn’t watch the morning news that he screamed loudly and stormed off to Barnes. Soon there was a crowd of boys and masters staring at the empty box where the TV had been. It’s a complete mystery – the house had been locked the entire night.

21:00   For the second time this year Sparerib locked the whole house in the common room. It’s unclear exactly what he hoped to gain from this technique because, like before, the whole house just stared blankly at the walls and nobody admitted to anything. This is our third siege of the year (including The Glock’s banana disaster) and every time the master leading the siege ends up looking like an absolute mongoloid. You’d think they’d try something different.

23:30   After a thorough house search by the prefects, we were released.

The only funny moment occurred at about eleven when Greg Anderson told Mad Dog to switch on the telly. Mad Dog jumped up and walked right up to the empty box before shaking his head with embarrassment and returning to his place on the floor.

07:45   Mr Harrisunder, the assistant maintenance officer, strolled into the common room carrying our TV and coolly plugged it in. Welcome to the madhouse!

Mom phoned and told me that Blacky had fallen in the pool while stalking the new Kreepy Krauly. Dad said the dog demonstrated itself to be a good swimmer even with having limited or no brains. It turns out that Blacky had swum for hours because he couldn’t work out how to get out of the pool.

Rambo was thrilled to report that he had finally killed Celeste the puffadder. He fed it Albert the rat who had been soaked in a combination of paraffin, brasso and wood glue. Gavin, the prefect under the stairs, is beside himself at the double killing (although he doesn’t suspect any foul play) and has refused to get rid of the dead snake. Rambo reckons he hasn’t left his room in days and spends his time making strange noises with his didgeridoo.