I Keep Having these Weird Dreams

I had the dream again last night. Not that one, the one with Mary Jane and the web-bikini, but the other one, the one with the talking bird. As a precaution I have decided to keep a record, this blog.

My name is Colin Thorson, I am nearly 15 and I live in Stoke-on-Trent (England) with my mum and her boyfriend, Mr Morris Morris.

Mr Morris Morris was named Morris by his dad so that he would stand out from the crowd because, his dad said, no one has the same name twice. Mum just looks at the ceiling whenever Mr Morris Morris says this. I don't think she believes him.

Me mum works in the Advice Centre in Hanley and Mr Morris Morris is something in the park; he says Superintendent me mum says 'deadwood'.

I go to Trentham High School, year 10, and I have just started my GCSE's - and they're really bloody hard - I don't care what anyone else says. And, before you ask, yes, I am still a virgin. I am not ashamed of this nor am I am proud. It just is.

The TV's still going on about that dreadful tsunami. It was awful all last week, every-time you went to the news the number of dead had gone up. It was like a cricket match; trying to keep up with the latest score, but after a while, the numbers are all meaningless. The mind can't cope with such numbers. I mean, I can just about imagine 800 people, that's the whole of my school, but 140,000? No, you can't do it. And still they keep showing those horrible pictures.

Darren, my best mate, & I went for a kebab from the Silesian Food Emporium - mum calls it an "Empornium" coz the food's an obscenity! - and then Darren got into an argument with the girl serving him coz he said the chip's were re-heated and she insisted they were fresh. The girl was quite nice looking, she had rather large breasts but unfortunately no one noticed this coz she had a really hairy moustache.

I started thinking, what would it be like to kiss a girl with a moustache. Would it tickle my nose? Would she be sexually-aggressive or shy? And could you be shy when you had a bigger moustache than your boyfriend?

I tried to read her name badge but it was obviously written by a non-English speaker and someone had carelessly smudged it.

I wasn't paying attention but the argument had got worse and the manager, Dr Vicky V. Dome, a sly East European, came out. He started arguing with Darren, calling him a trouble-maker and then Darren called him a Nazi and a fraud for pretending to be a doctor. I was pulling on Darren's sleeve but he was really having a go at Dr Dome and I didn't like the look of him. I never trust anyone who wears a cravat, and he had a huge one with an emblem of some sort.

Anyway the short of it is that Darren got banned from the Food Emporium for arguing and I got banned for looking at the assistant's breasts. He called me a sexual predator, which was really quite exciting; but I tried explaining I was only reading her name badge but I could tell he didn't believe me.

The food ban is a real pisser coz it means we'll have to have crappy pies from the petrol station on Longton road - which is not only ages away but also bloody expensive.

Mr M Fysto was on the phone for ages with mum today. He's got a problem with his visa - he actually doesn't have one - and the immigration people are giving him a hard time. Poor Mr M Fysto - a dreadful coral-red skin condition and no place to live.

Ten-Oz came around today. Or should I say '10 Oz', cos that’s what he likes to be known as, which is really stupid coz it sounds exactly the same both ways. And its worse when he writes it down as 10 Oz, coz people read it as ’10 Ounce’.

It was teatime but Oz wouldn't come in for fish fingers and beans, just hung around the back door mumbling about finding the Magic Stones. He then drifted off when it started to get dark. I feel quite sorry for him, he doesn't have many friends - that's a polite way of saying he has no friends - so I let him hang around with me. I think if he washed more often, say like every Easter, didn't drool when he spoke or shout the odd random word very very loudly, he would have a lot more friends. 

We make an odd pair, me a skinny school boy and he a 6’ 6” tall 350lb shaven-headed ex-wrestler. I don’t know why we started hanging out but he seems harmless and doesn’t mind me rabbitting on all the time. Besides – it keeps the local bully boys off me back.

Dr Dome has changed his Display Board from Areas of Local Interest - which used to have a picture of the Perseus statue in Trentham Gardens (the one with him holding Medusa's head with his willy hanging out) - to The Board of Infamy with pictures of me and Darren.

Darren has taken this badly and now goes around saying "Infamy, Infamy he's got it in for me!" This is a joke from an old Carry On film, but no-one seems to mind.

The Ex-Saddam Hussain Mosque in Shelton has agreed to provide asylum refuge for Mr M Fysto but the Imam says he must convert to Islam and pray 5 times a day. He is resisting this request. I don't hold out much hope that he will convert.

Oz has been banned from Tesco's in Trentvale again.

He was convinced that one of the Magic Stones was in a peach at the store, so he went around biting them in half looking for it. He managed to get through 2 pallets before he was subdued by security staff armed with shark repellent from the deep sea fishing aisle. A surprising and adventurous product choice considering Stoke is land-locked.

I was called down - Oz must’ve given them my name - to the Managers office, he was a sorry site sitting there, pathetic beyond belief, surrounded by the remains of half-eaten peaches & squashed peach skins.

 And Oz wasn't much better.

The Manager wanted to fill in an incident report but got into an argument with Oz about his first name.

"Stop being stupid. No one has a number for a name."

"I do."

"You're taking the piss, now!"

They kept this up for a long time until the manager was called away because the tills were playing up. Apparently they have a ghost (they say a workman fell off the roof when they were building it) in the store which/who/it (whatever!) goes around knocking things off shelves or opening tills. We didn't hang around and legged it out of there.

Mr Murcock - the School Psychologist - insists that I have invented a complex and intricate fantasy populated with powerful beings. I don't think he is blind. He says he is not blind and has never been blind and his first name isn't Matt or Mathew.

I promise not to tell anyone that I'd seen him - it would be our little secret.

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