Oh dear. Another one of those nondescript days that seemed to punctuate my childhood. ‘Boring. Got a lot of French homework.’ YOU ARE SIXTEEN, EVERYDAY SHOULD BE A JOY, FIFTY YEARS AGO, YOU’D HAVE BEEN DOWN A PIT, WORKING A TWELVE HOUR DAY OR MORE. Pfft!
I then add insult to injury by describing my mate as ‘childish’. Him childish, take a good look nearer to home sonny Jim. (Apparently, he nicked my bag, so I beat him up.) Two things spring to mind:
a) Yes he probably did nick my bag, and;
b) Quite what I meant by ‘beat him up’ is unclear and more than likely a gross exaggeration of what actually happened.
And the final, piece de resistance… wait for it… ‘Nothing much on the television.’ BL***Y UNGRATEFUL PEASANT.