"I'll Bet You'll Get A Camel Through A Needle . . ."

The C*nt: Why are you sat on the floor? Like some sort of Dude?

The Grandad: Do you know what "dude" actually means?

The C*nt: I know what you're going to say, and it's not slang for "Camel Penis"

The Grandad

[STRAIGHTFACED]: It's Camel Foreskin, actually.



And so the tone of Thursday's lesson was set.

It must be said, random useless facts are more commonly associated with the Lothario, who seems to fill the time between watching back to back Guy Ritchie flicks about hooliganism and such surfing the trivia section of IMDB or Wikipedia (but only if he's desperate.)

Needless to say, the quick and straightfaced reply from The Grandad, left yours truly in stitches (read: collapsed on the floor and weeping).
But, it also lead to an interesting bit of research (read: destraction from biology revision).

According to various sources on the interweb, the word "dude" has had numerous meanings which have gradually evolved over time.

For example, the word "Dude" originally referred to the little hairs on elephants arses before cattle ranchers in America developed it into a phrase used to insult the clueless city people.

There is in fact heavy debate out there on the ol' internet. Serious, serious heated discussion.

Some people seem fairly riled - "It doesn't mean Camel Foreskin you C***! It's a slang word!"
Some simply want to provide insightful responses - "The definition of dude is an ingrown but hair."
Whilst the rest (moi included) are amused that the issue is being discussed.

So there you have it. You really do learn something new every day. Even if it is about camel foreskin.

Now if someone can tell me how to clear my google history?
Only at the moment, it looks like I'm into some kind of wierd Camel related shennanigans.

"I Just Can't Find The Words"

"If we could draw a graph of your productivity over the past 2 years, what do you think it would look like?"

A question posed to me by the C*nt on Thursday.

In my head, the reply went:

"Dunno? Maybe one of the most productive you've seen? 'Cos fuck knows I pay damn good attention, work pretty feckin' hard and hand stuff in early if not on time 9 times out of 10. But please, because I've had a few blips this past week or so, feel free to not only embarass me in front of everyone, but then go and call me "juvenile" to your colleague who's painting an axe in the corner."

But the yellow bellied twat that I am, I said this.

Yup. That's right. Sod all.

To put the duration and uncomfortabilty of the silence into some perspective, imagine every classic western scene that's included a tumbleweed rolling across the screen and lay them end to end.

I just shrugged my shoulders and bit my tongue.

Not in a "I-will-not-stoop-to-your-level" way more of a "I'm-genuinely-scared-of-the-ramifications-of-what-I'll-say-to-you-because-you-are-the-one-with-the-authority-here-and-I'm-not-so-it's-probably-for-the-best-that-I-say-nothing" kind of way.

The set up for this question basically involves me being extemely giddy.

1)Because it's last period Drama and means I'm 1 1/2 hours away from home.

2)Because I'd done my LAST EVER speaking exam that morning.

3)Because I'd been literally locked in the exam room with the examiner during said exam.

Probably no excuse but shut up. My blog. My opinion. Feck off.

I spent the lesson dicking around, which, true, is getting more and more common but I honestly would care more if The Twat had actually prepared lessons and if he hadn't run out of things to teach us.

Both things, I can assure you are TRUE.

But he still insists on making us write essays (timed at 45 mins) during class time, look at exam mark schemes, look at example scripts and (these are his exact words) "highlight the good sentences."

He is ruining my favourite subject. Has in fact been doing so for a very very long time, gently eroding away the complexities at the heart of one of the oldest and most beautiful art forms to such an extent that last week I sat in The Manchester Opera House wondering about the Social/Political message of Little Shop of Horrors, instead of simply enjoying the fact that the black guy from Tracey Beaker was singing the Blues in the form of a man eating plant!

I DESPAIR!

Some of you (yes all 2 readers) might think I'm getting a little complacent, big headed if you will because the word has been going around that people think I'm big headed and think I don't need the help. Bull. Of course I do. But to be helped I need to be taught. Preferably by someone who

1)Isn't a failed actor

2)Doesn't waste 3 hours of my time with ridiculous lesson plans when I could do it in the comfort of my bedroom, with the [TOS cast] to keep me company.

3)Wasn't going bald at the age of 17.

I don't care if that one was below the belt. It needed saying and quite frankly, his unprofessional manner of audibly slagging students off to his colleague's whilst they are in the room, means I get to play the bald card.

End of Rant.

On a happier note.

[Title Of Show] has gots a Tony Nom

NPH is set to host them.

And I got to see The Grandad in a Sailor Suit whilst singing about NYC this week.

It's the little things that make life worthwhile.