The Leavers Ball Friday 2nd July 2004

The food is average, the service is ok, but the floor show is spectacular.
The poor girl, I say this, but she shouldn’t really have thrown all that food on the floor. But then, it was bound to happen, and the reaction was just a predictable. The greatest cheer heard by school pupils since Mrs. Vandenberg announced her retirement.

Anyway, the day for me with thinking, “Hmmmm…. I should get up now…” Eventually I did, and cracked open the Boddingtons, after a few cans, Tom arrived, he was bleeding (following an accident when shaving the inside of his mouth) and dressed in his suit for the ball, I was a little shaky and dressed in my jeans and T-shirt. As the Boddingtons slowly disappeared and H-Hour drew ever closer, Tom became increasingly worried about two things, 1. I wasn’t dressed 2. I was half-comatose. I explained to him that I didn’t want to turn up pissed, just “nicely drunk.” Despite this, unlike Tom, I actually had my ticket.

Once I was dressed and had overcome the temptation to play Reservoir Dogs or start talking like an Italian-American, we made our way to the travelodge to get Tom’s ticket, which he had cunningly left in the room he had booked for Louise and himself (not in Ripon, which would have been funnier). Harriet later, and very kindly, pointed out that a travelodge isn’t the most romantic of places, but then we were in Harrogate, not Venice. Thinking we were late, we then made our way to the Old Swan Hotel, via the scenic route, not intentionally but due to disorientation and Boddingtons. We arrived and positioned ourselves outside the Gentlemen’s convenience. Why we did this is still unclear, although, I still blame Harness. A slow trickle of our friends began to make their way to our now turf, the most eccentrically dressed being Jonny, who was wearing a very sharp dinner jacket, he looked like some sort of model (albeit a dwarf-model, but a model nonetheless) and Ali, who looked like a 19th Century snooker player. Then came the arrival of Harriet and Louise, who were greeted in the standard fashion for the English speaking world. Everyone said “Hello” to Hazz, who was wearing, well, what can I say, how about “Pink!” Tom was the last to greet Louise as it took us some time to re-fix his eyes and roll his tongue back in. The arrival of Mr. Duncan signalled a new age, as we moved away from the now familiar entrance to the Men’s and towards the drink. Personally I think we should have stayed where we were, as the drink was, well, not good, it was described eloquently by many a connoisseur, but notably by me as “yak urine” Billy as “rhino piss” and Dunk as “yellow.”

Next thing we knew we were being shepherded into the dining area, we all sat down, Tom and Louise had been seated apart, much to their disgust, but nothing compared to how annoyed I was to find myself next to Ali. I was also a bit flummoxed by the key rings they had given us, I know what I look like, I own a mirror, and if I wish to preserve my image now for eternity, I also own a camera, and most people have a yearbook for Christ’s sake, so stop pedalling this tat to me. Seeing that the bar had only a small queue I decided it was time for a drink, however, as I stood up in order to make my way towards the aforementioned queue-free bar, I was whisked away by a giant whisk, or possibly Lou, I don‘t remember. She insisted that her closest friends have a photo taken, and for some reason, she roped me in as well, probably to make the other three look good. Having had my photo taken with Tom, Louise and Harriet, I then took it upon myself to persuade Jonny to have his photo taken, his mother wanted him to and she’s not a women I would gladly cross. Following this act of kindness I made my way with Tom, who had just had another photo taken, back our table, and then to the bar, which now had a queue longer than the flight path of the Apollo 11. By the time we returned from the bar it was dark and Toby had a long ginger beard. We sat down and awaited the food, it was at this point that Louise informed us that that during her photograph with Harriet that Tom and I had been referred to in a most derogatory manner. I was understandably slightly upset by this, and stood up to see if Mr. Twatty Photograph man was still there, unfortunately he wasn’t. Tom and I decided to take the comments in good humour and made a joke of the whole thing, safe in the knowledge that if we see him again he’ll be wearing his bowels as a bobble hat.

The food was served in a manner that can only be described as haphazard, all the while, Rob and I attempted to figure out how we were supposed do with the large pieces of material they had given us, which I still maintain were hats, not napkins. I had the soup, which much to my surprise was edible, in that I ate it and didn’t feel any more or less ill as a result. They also served us with some bread, which as I recall most people ate with some butter, Rob being slightly abnormal when it comes to table manners ate some bread with his slabs of butter. Then came the main course, which was by all accounts, cold, in my case, with lukewarm gravy and served by the idiot waitress, it was hard to tell whether it was her first night, if she was blind, invalided or just plain incompetent. Not content with throwing most of my vegetables on the table, she was unable to grasp the concept of giving people an even amount of each type of vegetable, preferring to shower people in either baby-corn or beans. Still her serving skills were more than a match for her sense of balance which chose to fail her at the most hilarious of moments. As mentioned earlier, we were most amused, many of the girls felt sorry for her but I was still bitter over the vegetable fiasco. I ate the dessert, grudgingly as I thought the food was not worth the money we had paid, and we were providing the atmosphere, so all I could think that they were providing was the roof, and I have one of those at home.

The meal was followed by the awards ceremony, which provided some entertainment, Sweetland’s drunken stagger in the wrong direction was fairly amusing, as was Ben’s speech. Then came the Best Couple Award, as which point nearly everyone in the room sighed and look towards our table and Tom and Louise respectively. Much to our disgust and indeed shock, Tom and Louise not only failed to scoop the award, but weren’t even nominated, causing Mrs. Gilhooly to claim her researchers would be shot. I have to say that Tom and Louise took it in good humour, glad they didn’t have to go up and collect the award but nevertheless disappointed to not have their relationship recognised in a good way, following their embarrassment in the end of year assembly. As the actual winners approached they did so sheepishly, to some booing and cries of fix mainly from the area of me. This thing was as rigged as the OSCARS.

The band then took the stage, the two lead singers sang with a harmony that was equivalent to the Beach Boys, the Beach Boys that is, after about 15 pints, while being tortured, in different time zones. It was almost as if they’d never met before, it like listening to the howling of a very hungry wolf who has just discovered that he was to be neutered. Their attempts to excite the crowd were equally dire, thankfully greeted with silence but unfortunately, very little heckling. Ali attempted to blame their below-par performance on the speakers, a comment to which I replied in my standard manner. I told him southerners aren’t allowed to have opinions, particularly those born in Germany. As the evening moved on, the music got worse, more people began to dance, I got more depressed and Dunk got more drunk. Again, with dancing those worthy of mention were Jonny, who looked like a guy trying to dance stupidly for comedy value, and Ali, who looked like an oversized chimp doing some sort of mating ritual.

The rest of the evening involved sitting down for me, I chanted “Pycho!” at Jonny whenever he came within earshot. I spoke to Dunk for some time, in fact I spoke to him until his speech was no longer intelligible. A few people attempted to cheer me up, Ali, mistakenly believing that dancing would make me feel better kept trying to make me stand up, which caused depression to be replaced by anger. Tom valiantly gave up when he saw that I was not to be turned, Louise and Harriet seemed genuinely concerned, which was nice, but they heeded by advice to go and have a good time for me, which was all well and good. I amused myself by listening to Dunk trying to form words and planning this review.

Tom and Louise retreated to the relative safety of the travelodge at 00.30hrs, via taxi, the lazy feckers, “It’s raining” they pleaded, at which I branded them girly, strangely Tom seemed more offended than Louise about this, I can’t think why. Next to make his way was Jonny, who was given the guard of honour by myself, Dunk and Rob, the guard of honour being us chanting “Psycho!” until he left the building. The band said goodnight and we all joined in for the school song, as soon as we finished the bouncers appeared and threw us out, giving us the chance to say goodbye once we were outside in the rain. Some people disappeared into the night, while Toby, Harriet and Jenni tried to pluck up the courage to get in their taxi.
And that was it, the end of our school lives, some were upset, some were reflective, personally, I didn’t really care.