They say the hook is all in the first page....

Discussion in 'The Lamp and Sandbag II - The Tall Story Strikes B' started by Nehustan, Aug 8, 2006.

  1. No, you are a worse writer than you are a musician!!!!

  2. Yes, its not half bad.


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  1. Nehustan

    Nehustan On ROPs tell me would you read on?
  2. Nehustan

    Nehustan On ROPs

    Kim Walters sat for the last time of many outside the headmaster’s office. It felt to him as if he was nearing the end of one road, but inherent in that was the implication that another road would invariably begin. It seemed to him that the whole of his public school education had been in the art of receiving reprimand, he had certainly been in this office more than was appropriate. The very first day he had been in his Public School had ended with a fight with one of the lads who had been at the school since the age of eleven. Kim and his like entered the school later as preparatory schools completed at the age of thirteen. Kim didn’t really think about it, but it was probably for this reason that the schoolboy had targeted Kim on that first day. Compared to children that had come from the state sector the prep kids must have presented as easy targets. The boy learnt very rapidly as a result of a well executed hip throw and subsequent scarf hold and as anybody knows, successful outcomes are all about the prep. He recalled his first form master, the school chaplain, who Kim had never decided whether he was ecclesiastically eccentric or camp or an individual mixture of the two. His ponderings on this subject were complicated by the fact that the reverend’s game was tennis rather than cricket and so he was never quite sure whether he batted for the other side. In all fairness to the chaplain on completion of Kim’s first year he apologised for having been so tough with a sincere ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was your first year here’.

    So here sat Kim on the upholstered red leather bench that ran down of the side of the offices wherein lay the head and his secretary, though not of course in that way. Kim smiled at the thought and the rather too vivid image that entered his head probably as a result of reading the gentlemen’s magazines, which had long ceased having content to be deemed such, that were passed between the boys in the school. Outside the office were two lights, one red, and one green. Kim thought that it reminded him more of a dentist than a head’s office. Kim’s vivid imagination moved on and suddenly the headmaster was stood in an aeroplane, hatch open with a red-light dimly illuminating the interior, as the plane approached the target, the load master waited for the light to change to green signifying a ‘go’ code. To most of the pupils in the school the headmaster was an eccentric of a passed era, for this was the mid eighties in Thatcher’s Britain. He was a Doctor of Philosophy who apart from running the day to day governance of the school, which would make anyone ponder the great questions of the universe, taught French. Kim and his colleagues had been assured by another of the language department’s staff of the head’s eloquence in the la langue Française. She was herself a rather attractive, sultry and authentic Française that Kim knew the whole school secretly lusted after, that is all except perhaps the chaplain. What was less known was a rumour that had circulated amongst the senior cadets in the school corps. The rumour was that the headmaster was no less than a member of the Special Operations Executive, though as attested to by his departmental colleague he was far better at French that the characterisation in the sitcom imaginatively called ‘Allo, Allo’. She had complimented his command of the tongue with the statement ‘If you stood the head and I next to each other and asked a French national to decide who was French, most would think it was him’. The light changed from red to green, and as Kim imagined the headmaster plummeting toward occupied France, the school secretary’s head appeared around the door with a sad smile and pronounced the words ‘you may go in now’.
  3. It rambles a little, and the syntax and grammar could do with a little buffing up, but apart from that it's not half bad. Are you going to entertain us by posting some more? Or am I forever going to wonder what happened to Kim, especially concerning the Chaplin? :)
  4. Stop trying so hard.
  5. Nehustan

    Nehustan On ROPs

    Pretensious writing, or a perceptive comment on my whole life ;)
  6. Quality
  7. Nehustan

    Nehustan On ROPs

    Well I guess everyone needs to get their story out, and rambling (in the sense of Led Zeppelin) certainly would sum up my life. I wrote it when I got in from work. I decided to write my autobiography today as I'm reading 'Kim' by Kipling, and I thought Kim Walters was a suitable name. Synchronicity struck as I crouched and finished my fag before entering the station, as there was a 4X4 index 'Kilo Yankee Mike Won'. Ahhh, my secret life ;)

    (ohh I didn't answer, you may surely read it when I finish the first book, it's a long road since 1986 :twisted: )
  8. Nehustan

    Nehustan On ROPs

    The comment or the spelling mistake :evil:
  9. No gunfight, car chase or sex chance of it becoming a feature film.....forget it.
  10. Pa




    Just waaay too hard to read otherwise. So I didn't. :)
  11. It's all words, words words and more damn words! Is there a tabloid version that my crippled mind could deal with? One that starts with a football team going through a spiked teenager in a swanky hotel and finished with a quasi - xenophobic rant about muslim intergration?

    Regarding the first page thing, ever read 'Catch 22' by Joseph Heller? 500 Pages to tell one really long joke.