Chewed Shoelaces

Wierdly, I think doing extra time in school is cool.

It's the fact that you can arrive at whenever-the-hell 'o clock without a uniform and a perfectly adjusted quiff (I had a bit more time to adjust my quiff. It is now perfectly adjusted) and on top of that whenever your work gets a bit heavy you are free to leave whenever you want and roam. I suppose this was also true for all of my Art lessons in the past but I could never roam without feeling a little bit dirty, plus, after-school roaming is always more pleasurable when you can think 'Hey, I didn't have to come in to school at all' and smile smugly, then you can go outside with your snazzy non-uniform and scoff at some younger uniformed pupils. I scoff at younger pupils quite a lot, often while lighting a cigar on my burning old uniform and laughing in to the wind. It's a hobby of mine. Speaking of which, what the hell is going on at school? I know there's exams and such but why are so many littler pupils outside having picnics while others are in lessons? And why does everyone ignore the break buzzer now? It messes with your head. Without my phone, watch and camera I'm directionless enough already. There must be an explaination.
So staying in school was what I did this morning and after I did a fair bit of art and ran out of cigars and blue polo shirts to burn I set out to get my puppy.

My FRIGGIN' puppy!!

It was long journey to Ross-on-Wye and I had a little nap because I was tired and at one point I think I saw a buzzard. But as much as I'd like to tell you about the rest of that exhilirating journey I'll skip to the point.

The puppy lived by a placed called 'Hole-in-the-Wall' and I mused about how a small country town in West England got to be called Hole-in-the-Wall. I thought that maybe I could invent a witty imaginary scenario in which the olde English settlers of Yore came about this curious moniker. But I couldn't really think of one which wasn't rubbish so I fell back to sleep.
On the acount of that I can already see my blog ratings drop by the second I think I'll skip ahead a bit longer.

The puppy (as I already knew through visiting this place previously but you didn't so I'll inform you anyway) lived with a nice old lady and her nice old husband in a house, in a very big house in the country. He was a bloody big pup with a taste for shoelaces, particularly my shoelaces as well as my bare legs. Granted through experience I should have worn trousers instead of three-quaters but the bites didn't hurt too much and he gave up after a while... the coward. We both agreed that he was the cutest darn puppy in the world, went through some quick paperwork, paid and gave the nice old lady some flowers for being just so nice then scooted off. I realise that I should've informed you that I was travelling with my father and we are not schizophrenic - I am not schizophrenic, I can't drive and if I could I would rarely drive while napping, it was my dad who filled in the forms and paid while I was busy getting the skin bitten off my thighs, the little terror.
Default unnamed puppy continued to be just lovely and much cooing occured. There was a small welcoming party from family friends and a lot of time was dedicated to the naming process. I got fed up in the end and considered calling him Hole-in-the-Wall. Anyway the naming rundown is as follows:

Current favourite:
Wilson (partially after the musician Wilson Pickett, but mostly after the volleyball from Castaway - as well as the tennis ball cylinder that lies in the car for some reason)

Benson
Wesley
and slightly less popularly:
Henry
Floyd

+ my six-year-old cousin's suggestion: Sizzles

By then it was probably too late to go to band practice and the weather was a bit pants for the picnic that I wasn't sure was going on.
So I checked Blogger and was happy at the comments from my first post. I thought it went quite well and I even managed to fit in a little mildy topical joke about the labour party.

Stay beautiful
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