Cockblocking Educators
The scene: Lloret de Mar, Spain, 2005?
School trips to foreign places are either veryvery good, or veryverybad. There's never a happy medium, and there's always a fantastic event taking place. For us, it may well be that seeing the "boy with boobs" - yes, there was actually a boy who, although quite chubby, was not chubby enough to possess the wonderful D-cups he so proudly boasted. It was the one time a man has ever given me the horn. What?! He was TOPLESS!
Anyway - we were staying in little chalets, with crap bunk beds, and worse bathrooms. The teachers were getting no better treatment. The bus took 36hours to get us there, with no air conditioning [scrimping and saving and all that], and we duly unpacked and headed straight for the pool after our 7am [every bleedin' morning] breakfast. I've never been an early riser, it's not my cup of tea. Especially if I was late to bed.
However, one day there was a bit of a dispute. Some lads from another group of holidaying schoolkids accompanied by teachers wearing questionable get-up [P.E Teachers, in their shorts, need I say more?!] had set upon a couple of lads from our group, convinced we were English. The matter was quickly resolved, however, when I trotted up and asked what was going on - A genuine question, I hadn't the fucking foggiest - and the lads, who turned out to be anti-English Poles all spotted my Scotland shorts and realised their error. Later that night, at the nightly disco, complete with Spanish DJs, no alcohol that the teachers knew about, and plenty of "toiday forriners", we all sang, danced, and acted like fools in unison, partly helped by the fact that we couldn't stand any English wankers, either!
Anyway, "Saturday Night" came on. Yes, the choon the epitomised the 90s. A lovely blonde, slim Polish girl decides to dance with me. I'm dancing. She's dancing. We're dancing. Together. She moves in for the kill. I respond in kind. We're kissing. We're smoooching. "In a Tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G" It's all going well. I've got one hand on her bum, the other's playful wandering round the front, winkwinknudgenudge. I stop, briefly, to gaze into her eyes. Then, DISASTER!
We've all been there. Middle of the dancefloor, grinding against a lovely foreign bird whilst on our trip abroad with the school. Things start getting heated, saliva is swapped like it's a currency currently going out of fashion. And then you look up, only to see your worst nightmare come true...
My awkward-looking, gangly English teacher, who's accompanied us on our holiday, is standing, looking at me. Apparently, I've been so overcome with lust that I didn't notice everyone else in our group had been shipped off to bed. I'm standing, a lone scotsman in a group of Poles... and my teacher's telling me, in front of this fine specimen of a woman, that... "IT'S TIME FOR BED, ANDREW."
Ab. Solutely. Gutted.
[Nevermind, I sneaked out to her chalet later on in the week and we continued our throes of passion. Result!]
School trips to foreign places are either veryvery good, or veryverybad. There's never a happy medium, and there's always a fantastic event taking place. For us, it may well be that seeing the "boy with boobs" - yes, there was actually a boy who, although quite chubby, was not chubby enough to possess the wonderful D-cups he so proudly boasted. It was the one time a man has ever given me the horn. What?! He was TOPLESS!
Anyway - we were staying in little chalets, with crap bunk beds, and worse bathrooms. The teachers were getting no better treatment. The bus took 36hours to get us there, with no air conditioning [scrimping and saving and all that], and we duly unpacked and headed straight for the pool after our 7am [every bleedin' morning] breakfast. I've never been an early riser, it's not my cup of tea. Especially if I was late to bed.
However, one day there was a bit of a dispute. Some lads from another group of holidaying schoolkids accompanied by teachers wearing questionable get-up [P.E Teachers, in their shorts, need I say more?!] had set upon a couple of lads from our group, convinced we were English. The matter was quickly resolved, however, when I trotted up and asked what was going on - A genuine question, I hadn't the fucking foggiest - and the lads, who turned out to be anti-English Poles all spotted my Scotland shorts and realised their error. Later that night, at the nightly disco, complete with Spanish DJs, no alcohol that the teachers knew about, and plenty of "toiday forriners", we all sang, danced, and acted like fools in unison, partly helped by the fact that we couldn't stand any English wankers, either!
Anyway, "Saturday Night" came on. Yes, the choon the epitomised the 90s. A lovely blonde, slim Polish girl decides to dance with me. I'm dancing. She's dancing. We're dancing. Together. She moves in for the kill. I respond in kind. We're kissing. We're smoooching. "In a Tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G" It's all going well. I've got one hand on her bum, the other's playful wandering round the front, winkwinknudgenudge. I stop, briefly, to gaze into her eyes. Then, DISASTER!
We've all been there. Middle of the dancefloor, grinding against a lovely foreign bird whilst on our trip abroad with the school. Things start getting heated, saliva is swapped like it's a currency currently going out of fashion. And then you look up, only to see your worst nightmare come true...
My awkward-looking, gangly English teacher, who's accompanied us on our holiday, is standing, looking at me. Apparently, I've been so overcome with lust that I didn't notice everyone else in our group had been shipped off to bed. I'm standing, a lone scotsman in a group of Poles... and my teacher's telling me, in front of this fine specimen of a woman, that... "IT'S TIME FOR BED, ANDREW."
Ab. Solutely. Gutted.
[Nevermind, I sneaked out to her chalet later on in the week and we continued our throes of passion. Result!]
posted by SuperRoo at 12:57
1 Comments:
2003. :)
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