Slightly later than intended, but here nonetheless, these are the worst three* things to happen during my time in Southampton. BUH BYE SOTON!
Single Sex Secondary School (where I clearly learned about alliterations).
Being spotty and hormonal is bad enough but being surrounded by 1500 others going through the same just takes the biscuit. It was all bitch fights, everyone flirting with the one male teacher under 50, bitch fights and more bitch fights. To rub salt in the wounds, it’s now a mixed school. The one little bit of satisfaction is being able to walk around smugly after I bump into the cow from Year 10 who is now fat with triplets and has a junkie boyfriend. What’s that, bitch? Shoulda’ done your homework! BOOYAH.
I was as gobby as the next at school and made one particular enemy. It started outside a Co-Op when I laughed in her face at something she said. She tried to punch me and then I shit my pants and had to use the shop phone to call my mother to drive the two minutes around to escort me home safely. I was 17 (and weak as shit).
I was out in town the following week when (totally ratted) two chaps jumped me from behind and starting kicking at my shrivelling, wimping person. My then boyfriend – who was as macho as a ladybird – tried to intervene but got the odd punch. Then came forth the ginger midget to punch my face; I retaliated but being a) wasted and b) a wuss, it would have been more effective trying to bamboozle her by asking what a ‘noun’ is. She ended up on tag (over NYE) and had to pay me damages so IN HER FACE.
I can’t really talk about this as the wounds are still raw but when I was fifteen, our school won a radio competition to have Busted come and play a set. I kicked girls out of my way to get right to the front and when the
lovely chaps came down to shake our hands, I grabbed out to get Matt’s. I grabbed on maybe a little too strongly but I looked him in the eyes and said, in a sultry teenage fashion, “OHMYGODOHMYGODILOVEYOUILOVEYOUSOMUCH“. To which he snatched his hand back and got up onto the makeshift stage. What? I KNOW! No ‘I love you’ back. Not even a pitiful thanks. Dick. I’m glad his solo career bombed.