Okay society you win- Diary of a fat boy

[LLevan]

Great thread, always a pleasure to read and now it feels like I know you a bit even though we have never met. Congrats on the weight loss and fingers crossed you can change your lifestyle to keep your weight down.

[boldie]

another great post Phil.  Too long?  Never!

  Keep it up Snatty 

xx

What she said.

Hell, even I'll give you kisses if you keep posting wonderful stuff like this. (OK maybe not kisses but a fruit drink of some sort at the next bB)

[Snatiramas]

This thread is useless without pictures of Michelle Duff.

I was so in love but I was spurned for somebody cooler......funny how trends start

[Claw75]

This thread is useless without pictures of Michelle Duff.

I was so in love but I was spurned for somebody cooler

we've all been there.  I spent many a night several years ago longing for someone who didnt love me back (happy to get his end away though obviously).  Love (or rather infatuation) does funny things to the head - it makes us think we can't possibly live without this person who doesn't love us back - pride and self-respect goes out the window.  Michelle Duff and Simon Cooper (for that is the adonis' name) are the losers in the long run!

[boldie]

This thread is useless without pictures of Michelle Duff.

I was so in love but I was spurned for somebody cooler......funny how trends start

you got the last laugh mate

http://www.michelleduff.ca/webpages/michellebench.html

[kinboshi]

This thread is useless without pictures of Michelle Duff.

I was so in love but I was spurned for somebody cooler......funny how trends start

you got the last laugh mate

http://www.michelleduff.ca/webpages/michellebench.html

I LOLd.

[Laxie]

And he keeps knocking down the pounds.  Well done that man!!! 

I use to play Varsity Basketball for my high school.  I was ok, but others on the team were better.  While working to improve my overall game, I was the 'take out' girl.  If someone on the other team was causing us hassle, I was brought in to 'take em out.'  And that's what I did...for 2 years. 

Suddenly I was good enough to start, because I could actually play.  During one match we were faced with Amazon chicks.  I swear.  They were HUGE and towered over us.  My coach asked me to 'take one out' but I came up with another plan.  If you can't score by going up with them, then go under them.  By the time they realised what we were at, the ball was in the net...and I didn't have to worry about the rest of their team kicking my backside for 'taking her out'.  I was offered a full college scholarship thanks to that game.  Of course, I had other plans...and college wasn't part of them. 
         
Enjoy your trip to Germany!!!   

[Snatiramas]

This thread is useless without pictures of Michelle Duff.

I was so in love but I was spurned for somebody cooler......funny how trends start

you got the last laugh mate

http://www.michelleduff.ca/webpages/michellebench.html

I LOLd.

Me too........total quality

[tikay]

Snat - superb! You are so eloquent in the written word. As opposed to the spoken word....

I just loved those school memories. 11+ exam - ouch - I failed mine, big time.

Very unlucky in the Five-O last night. I was not sure if "Chompy-IMO was "the" Chompy, so had to restrict my comments on him.....

Have a safe trip to Germany bud.

Now, I need to know about Snotty Crabtree. Male, or Female, for starters.

I've been incredibly busy this last week, & ditto next week, so I'm not on blonde as much as I want right now, but I just want to say, while I have a moment - thank you for bringing us this Diary. You, & Red's Diary ditto, have ensured I'm always eager to open the blonde Forum up. You are both a breath of fresh air to this site, & I'm immensely grateful.

As an odd aside, I always leave my favourite things until last. When eating, the potatoes are last, when doing e-Mails, I do the friendly ones last, & when I open blonde, I read all the other threads first, then I go get a cuppa, "job done" sort of thing, & immerse myself in you & Reds Diary - it's a kind of reward for me, a relaxing break, & it helps me see things in better perspecticve - as to life, & as to blonde, where, at times, the "mood", & undignified displays of unrestrained anger make me very depressed & morose. A visit to "Vagueness" or "Fat Boy" always leaves me with a wonderful sense of contentment. You two are both proper men.

Well done, & thank you.

[cia260895]

Well said that man..

[Snatiramas]

Oh my word I have just reread what I promised at the end of last weeks instalment and it is way way too ambitious for one instalment so just to set your taste buds straight today we will cover off Wyggeston the school, Mr. Crowley the French master and as a special bonus topic the infamous tuck shop hag……..young boys are so horrible. Snotty Crabtree and others are going to have to wait for another time but there is plenty of time and much to write about.

So first day at Wyggeston and I have to tell you I am massively excited. The blazer for a start is black with a badge…..how cool is that. I mean we even had to go to a special shop to get all the clothes. I walk into the school and go to the Great Hall. There seemed to be thousands of people and I remember the stark feeling of insecurity of going from the biggest in the school to being the smallest. A little like Harry Potter we are all put into houses. The houses are Kingdom, Johnson, Huntingdon and Went. Huntingdon had the reputation of always winning all the sporting events and everything else for that matter.

Now based on my fathers and uncles exploits I am placed into Huntingdon. Well somebody is going to be disappointed aren’t they? Green and white hooped rugby shirt, and sure enough most of the Neanderthal rugby types seem to end up in the same room. Lines are being drawn and much posturing is going on. You know the kind of thing….”you can’t sit there because you didn’t go to Overdale!!”. We are put into alpahabetical order by Miss Whitely regardless of where we went to school. We are given a timetable to fill out and fill it out it we do. My word this looks like a lot of work….and what the hell does Labore et Honore mean on the front. Latin. I don’t know Latin. I barely know English. I later find it means work and honour and soon gets changed on the front of my timetable to “desidiosus est magis fun” which roughly means lazy is more fun. So the day breaks down into seven periods. Two in the morning to first break. Then two to lunch. And then three in the afternoon. So we do rules and timetable to first break. We are taught the importance of tradition. How lucky we are to be at the school. The importance of the school motto………and then it is first break. We pile out of the Lower school block and go out on the school playing fields at which point we are smartly surrounded by the rest of the school and shown just how important tradition is.

The quaint tradition of throwing the first years down the bank was in full cry. My word sharp grass bank about eight foot high and almost vertical and you were thrown pushed or whatever down it. I just let it happen. I already knew at age eleven that there was a time and a place. Can’t beat a bit of tradition. Some fought of course. Big mistake as they definitely got the worst of it. Some tried to run down the bank and a few made it but many more did not. Oh dear the bottom of the bank is carnage. The bell goes to signify the end of break and we go back inside for more indoctrination.
Lunch time arrives and we have lunch and then go off to explore the school. What a big place it is especially after your little primary school. Anyway boys being boys it doesn’t take long to work out that there is a tuck shop. So we go into this separate building with a blue door next to the sports pavilion. We stand in line and wait to be served by this unbelievably scary woman who got named the tuck shop hag. Now she had been a young woman in my fathers day and that was a long time ago and according to him she wasn’t very pleasant then. Well let me tell you right now time had not treated her well. She could have taken the place of one of the baddies in Lord of the Rings and not needed any make up to do so. She was short and talked in the manner of a Rottweiler and nobody in that queue looked comfortable regardless of year.

Now the tuck shop hag got used in one of the funniest tricks we played that year. A group of us had gone into buy chewy lollies. Now these normally had a long stick and cost 5p. Tremendous value. Unfortunately when we got to the front of the queue on this day the lollies only had short sticks. Cookaburra as he was known and no it is not me…..my nickname was Sid…. asked very politely excuse me “Do you have any with long sticks?”………”No I don’t. These have got short sticks so I am only charging 4p”. Oh this is just too good an opportunity to miss. So one by one six of us go up and ask the same question. By the time the sixth one has got there the hag has reached ballistic. She is on the very edge of tumbling…………now what we need is a victim………I spy with my little eye somebody called Jason. “ Hey Jason come here!” and Jason saunters over for he is the sauntering type and therefore deserves all he gets for trying to be cool.
“Listen mate the Hag has got lollipops with short sticks and what you need to do is ask her if she has any with long sticks”. In saunters Jason and the next thing we know he comes flying out screaming and holding his head. She had only gone and smacked him with the broom. I still laugh now as I see his startled expression in my minds eye.

I digress as is my way in this diary. Back to the first day. After lunch we have our first period. French. Great a new language. I really fancy this. In walks Mr. Crowley. We all stand because that is what you do. It is boiling. I have been chucked down a bank I have been scared witless by the tuck shop hag and I am nowhere near the window. I put my hand up. Now Mr. Crowley looked like an older version of somebody who was or had been a member of the Hitler youth. Clipped moustache and everything neatly pressed.

He looked down his nose at me and said “oui” in a particularly clipped voice. “Sir can I please take my blazer off?” as you were not allowed remove them without permission. He booms back “EN FRANCAIS! EN FRANCAIS”. Great been in the school less than a day and I am being shouted at in a language that I do not understand. I am forced to stand up in my blazer and spend the next forty minutes being humiliated. Oh what fun. Well let me tell you it bloody well wasn’t and it put me off the language for a very long time. What the miserable git was looking for was “puis je enlever ma veste s'il vous plait monsieur?” and I still know it now because I wrote it out fifty times that evening. It took seven long years until I got my own back but I did in the end and it involved his car door locks a willing accomplice, some naughty mags and some superglue……I leave the rest to your imagination.

And there I leave dear old school for another week. A shorter post this week as I am absolutely knackered from a long meeting today and I have another tomorrow. So onto the diet. Well onwards and upwards. No weigh in today as I am in Krefeld which is kind of like the West Midlands in that it is heavily industrial. I caught the Air Berlin flight. Ah Air Berlin have very sexy stewardesses and treat you so nicely it makes you forget that you only paid £36 plus taxes for your flight. Budget airlines as they should be. Well it was a great flight for this one reason alone. I not only did my seatbelt up but I had to tighten it a bit. Now I always stay at the Tryp when I am in Krefeld as it is fifty yards from the office. My room always has a bottle of water and two packets of crisps in it. The water is gone but not the crisps. I have only now to do my press up challenge, have a shower and go to bed and so I wish you night night.

Please remember the following. The only person who got all his work done by Friday was Robinson Crusoe.

[Wardonkey]

Merci

[Claw75]

urgh - Mr French teacher sounds awful.  Reminds me of a time in primary school.  I was 8 and we had another teacher covering our class because our form tutor was sick (this was at the age where the form tutor taught all subjects).  We were all told to quietly work through the next chapter in our maths books.  Now I was a bit of a swot in those days and whizzed through the chapter, finishing long before the rest of the class.  I put my hand up and the teacher came over.  I told her I'd finished, and was there something else I could be getting on with?  'finished!?!?!' she boomed, picking up my workbook to check.  'so you want something else to do, do you?  Write me an essay on the use and effectiveness of discipline in primary schools' and stomped back to her desk.  That was me out of her depth, I think that was the first time I had every heard the work 'essay', and I didn't really understand the rest of the question (but darent ask for clarificatin).  I spent the rest of the class struggling to put words to paper other than writing my name, the date, and the heading.  The rest of the class, understandably, kept schtum when they'd finished the chapter and twiddled their thumbs instead.  By the time the bell went indicating luchtime I'd still not written much, and what I had probably made no sense.  I was also close to tears.  The teacher came to collect my essay and I told her, shaking, I hadn't been able to do it.  I was then instructed to spend my lunch break in detention (I didn't know what that was until that day either!) until it was finished to her satisfaction.

I can remember that day like it was yesterday - I think it's the first time I realised how unfair life could be.  In hindsight I think I just pissed the teacher off because she was obviously hoping for a nice easy session sitting at the front of the classroom filing her nails whilst the kids just got on with their work. 

[Snatiramas]

So as you rejoin me I am being held upside down by my ankles. There is one small problem with this in that I am being held out of the window two storeys up. You see I have this massive problem. It is a problem I still have. I sometimes just can’t help myself. I see the incident I think a line and without thinking out it pops with exquisite timing leaving a large proportion smiling and somebody with a rueful look on their face or hatred in their eyes.

On this occasion my target was one of the rugby team. We are still in the first year and I am struggling to fit in. I am just different. Chubby. Not very sporting. Not made to feel very bright oh and based on never hiding my religion everybody knows I am Jewish. The one weapon I have is humour but the problem with all weapons is that if you do not handle them with care then they tend to blow up in your face. On this occasion the captain of the year rugby team was insulting me incessantly. “Oi chubby why don’t you go back to where you came from!” that sort of thing. Now I came from my mother who gave birth to me at the St. Francis hospital on London road and there was no way I was going back into the womb no matter how big the bully was. So of course I walked away and kept my mouth shut like any normal person. Of course I did. Only I didn’t. No I came up with the aged 11 classic of “Listen Mark what gives you the right to insult me when it is perfectly obvious to all of us that your mother is still cutting your hair, you can even see the where the handles of the bowl were”. So instant laughter. Then I make mistake number two. I turn round. Next thing I know three of them have grabbed me and I am hanging upside down outside the window which is where you find me.

Unusually at this point I realised I was not afraid. No not me I was working out how to miss the wall and land somewhere that wouldn’t kill me. Quite by chance a prefect came in at this point and all of a sudden I am hauled back in and I am not going to say a word. Mark had been picking on me for most of the year. It had not been much fun. I wasn’t a member of a group see. I mean unfortunately there wasn’t a smart arses unite group. There was rugby. There was drama. A fervent bible group. Anyway things reached a head the first week of year 2 when Mark started on me. I just lost it and I hit him. There was a full years hatred in that punch. There was pain and frustration. I hit him so hard in the stomach I felt him rise into the air……….he invited me into the rugby team. I accepted.

Now I had a group. I was fat and slow so I went straight into the front row. If I had realised just how much fun it was going to be I would have joined up straight away. The front row is just like being the Norman Hunter of a rugby team. You learn all the dark arts of intimidation. Sticking your thumb up the other props armpit to cause him discomfort. Biting ears. Head butting. Dropping the scrum to ensure your opposite number gets a mouthful of mud and my favourite which I called the champagne cork. To do this the whole front row had to work in unison. We would pack down slightly lower than our opponents at the scrum (if you know nothing about rugby, just nod intelligently here). When the ball came in the shove would come on and we would leverage their front row so that their heads pointed to the floor and their feet were off the ground. We stopped being able to do this as time went on and we all got bigger. At the time though it was tremendously dangerous and therefore quite good sport.

Anyway eventually I graduated to the position of hooker. The position of true nobility. Peter Wheeler, Bobby Windsor, Phil Cooklin  great men of true grit and indomitable spirit. Well the first two were. Me. I was rubbish but I tried hard as always and the humour was apparently appreciated by the team. Anyway there was a big cup game. It was the start of our successful run to the under 16 cup. We were going to play Oadby Beauchamp a local comprehensive. We know we should win as they are better known for their football team. In the changing room all I can here is the voice of a big, ginger haired lad telling his team how we were all a load soft grammar school shit’s and how we would crumple if they went in hard and lots of other macho nonsense.

Now I may have been rubbish but even I used to get pumped for a game. It generally took me a couple of hours to calm down after I came off the pitch. I was angry as I ran out. We kicked off. Their player dropped the ball. A scrum was called. There I am opposite Mr. Gobby………thank you lord I love you. So for the next sixty minutes as that was as long as he lasted I show him just how soft we are as a team and let me tell you I enjoyed every minute of it. Not very noble I know but honestly I absolutely loved taking this kid to bits. This was a defining moment in my life and I knew it then and I know it now. I realised that I enjoyed inflicting pain. I had also found out by now that I could stomach a fair amount of pain for a bloke (women can stomach a load more). Before all you deviants start on the sexual connotations I am incredibly boring as regards sexuality.

As I sit here in Dusseldorf Airport typing away because it takes my mind off the fact that I am not eating my normal pre flight steak it is clear that the reason I like poker so much is this giving and receiving of pain. I mean we all know that somebody is going to get lucky against us and it is going to hurt but we also know that we are going to do it to somebody else and this is going to hurt them. I mean poker is one big brawl with everybody having different fighting styles. Some people like to throw lots and lots of jabs looking for the blow that will knock you out but always active. Strangely Michigan Jeff springs to mind, a player I consider to be one of the best on the circuit. Not only does he have tremendous game but he is a tremendous man as well. Others wait and wait looking for the knockout blow when you are least expecting it. Step forward Tighty and Red. When you mess with these prize fighters you know you are likely to get a bloody nose. Also tremendous company at the table and away from it. Then there are the tricky fighters like Lallit truly difficult to read particularly if there is a Jack on the flop. On top of that there are lady fighters as well and some of those are truly difficult at the table and they hate losing. I still remember Claws face at BB3 when she got knocked out. Then there are truly scary fighters who can cut it all ways like 77 Dave………if that don’t get me room and board in Vegas nothing will. All these fighters are going for it at the same time bound to be bloodshed.

What type of fighter am I? The worst kind for bankroll management because I don’t mind too much getting hit. If  I play for a long time I get a little punch drunk and get involved when I should be bobbing and weaving. All of this I do with an incessant stream of rubbish being uttered from my mouth. So difficult to concentrate if you are laughing. During festival events I have been told to shut up but I do not care. I love the game though. The violence. The carnage. I get it wrong lots but just occasionally I get it right. When you get it right it just feels the best. The only thing I hate at the table is one player being disrespectful to another. There is no excuse. All people pay to enter and they all have a right to play in whatever way they choose.

So rugby at school helped define my poker style as did Snotty Crabtree. You see the best description I have seen of poker is that used for war. It goes “hours of boredom, moments of terror”.  Now Snotty Crabtrees lessons were absolutely excruciatingly mind numbingly boring. They were far worse than Mr. Reeves’ Latin lessons and I used to fall asleep in those as they followed on from swimming. Snotty was from the old school of education and he had been called Snotty since my uncles day…………ah they are just calling the flight. Thank you for helping me through this moment of craving. More next week.

[boldie]

Wow, Snatty when you post you don't half tell a story...top stuff.