Only last week my pudding had hopped out of its dish and landed a few feet away, right in a Year Seven boy’s spaghetti carbonara. “As if I’d ever sit next to you of my own free will, Cyn.” It’s a fact, I’m afraid, that I did quite often have little accidents with school lunches. “Don’t you sit next to me, you mucky pup.” “There goes Gwenny, playing with her food again!” said Cynthia Dale. I buttoned up my dark blue blazer over it. Lennox High School uniform was pretty much the color of mashed potatoes anyway, but you still couldn’t miss seeing the remaining globs of my lunch. “No thanks.” As it happens, the blouse of the St. “You can have mine too, if you fancy spreading some more on your blouse.” “This stuff tastes like it’s been scraped off the floor anyway,” said my friend Lesley while I mopped up the damage as well as I could. I managed to catch the plate just in time, as my knife and fork clattered to the floor. It lasted only two seconds, but that was long enough for me to dump a plateful of mashed potatoes and gravy all over my school uniform. For a moment it was like being on a roller coaster when you’re racing down from the very top. I FIRST FELT IT in the school canteen on Monday morning.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |