"Okay, so basically, you're here because you need a favour from my art teacher?" I turned to him as we reached the car wash I'd mentioned. I think it's a car wash. There's a bunch of cars and guys in tattoos spraying liquid on them. I hope it's a car wash.
"Yes. Mr. Brian Frost. Our parents knew each other. I mean, he's about twenty years older than me but they did know each other. Some of my posh up-bringing still shines through my adorable personality."
Seriously, did he not realise why his female fanbase held so much resentment towards themselves that their collective name included the word 'Bitches'? When he made my gut shrivel so much, is it any wonder I began to wonder why he was allowed to be so perfect, wonder why I'd never be so brilliant, why only a finite number of people get to be truly extraordinary?
Anyway, I had a few more questions, "What do you need him for? I really don't understand what the hell he can help people with. I think the art department have, between them, plotted at least twenty-seven methods to kill him and rule themselves out as suspects."
"Well, I haven't actually met him, though it's nice to know what I'm getting myself into. I need him because I'm doing a documentary about Scottish schools - I'm the outsider's point of view - and he's agreed to be my guide while I'm here."
"Wait, you're gonna be in my school? How long?"
"About a month."
"Well, I can guarantee that you'll get a very split reaction. There's the ones that will fall over fan-girling, and the ones that will fall over laughing at your name."
"To be fair it has eleven syllables."
"Yeah, just thought you'd like to know."
Now at the school, the Cumberbatch and I parted ways and I trotted home to announce my news to Twitter. It being March, the sun was only just peeking its head around the ever-present clouds but, yes, as Twitter had promised, March was going to be awesome.
Yeah, 'cause I'd ever been that lucky in my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment