With the recent success of my previous entry from yesterday, I've had recommendations from Tom Edwards and many others to continue writing. Over the course of the day, whilst pondering both life's mysteries, and what I could write for my second article, an abomination of a person came stumbling over to me, (wearing his "£65" fleece) and said, in his most naive (sorry Mrs Fisher - can't put an umlaut on the "i"), honest, and sincerest voice:
"James! What does 'dispute' mean? Seriously James, I just don't know."
The great Milan Banwaith
This conversation evolved into how he also didn't know the definition of 'mistress', and kept pronouncing it 'mist-ress', and then, with Josh Murphy reluctantly joining in the discussion, Milan commented: "Josh! Your breath stinks! That's so 'bs'..."
This was in a History lesson period 3 & 4, and so, with a substitute teacher, our ability to talk freely was hardly discouraged. Well, now that I think about it, this old lady (who had one of the most strangest accents) was shouting a lot: I didn't really like her. Anyway, sorry; I'm digressing.
So next, with this old woman who's practically crumbling with age looming and watching all of us strangely, silence befalls the classroom. Completely spontaneously, and utterly randomly, Milan screeches in sheer delight: "Press it hard!"
A series of unfortunate events then unfurl which I shan't delve into, and, almost immediately, another blinding comment passes Milan's lips: "James, move your arm!" (I'm left handed you see, and my arm was getting over his work)
In retaliation, I replied sarcastically "I'm sorry I'm left handed."
And his golden response was: "Well why don't you change hands?!?!?!?!"
Now that this inaccurate anecdote about today's events has been told, I must reveal that Milan is, in all 200+ official countries, by all experiments known to man: psychologically insane. It is this insanity that has been described today: one of his outrageously stupid actions and terminology, his repetitive ramblings about how he will one day become the next Nigel Smith, and his obsession with women's clothing and make-up.
In the future, say... 10 years from now, I would like to meet up with Milan, to see how he has fared in independent life. My bet is that, if his ambition to become a dentist has failed, he will either become the Godfather of the world's largest organised criminal cartel in the world, or someone will have got so fed up with him that they will have brutally killed Milan with nothing but a blunt tooth pick and a wooden spoon.
The sad thing is, despite his probable retardedness, I still class this lovable, blundering idiot as a friend. It is this pathetic stupidity that brings out the best in a person: Milan Banwaith is a prime example.
And so I say, let the legacy of Milan live on through our tales. Never surrender; never faulter. And in the words of the great Millie B. himself:
"STFU, or I'll slap you silly!"
Sianara.
So I've always thought of myself as a weird person. You know: that socially awkward kid who's always daydreaming about what meagre, pointless detail will happen next in life. That person who you'll see sitting in the corner of the classroom reading the slogan on his pen for the thousandths time, and who never seems to be able to control his ostentatious, wavy hair. This unusualness is also portrayed through my undecided political and religious views - which I suppose might be expected from a 15-year-old such as myself - my realisation that if the meaning of life isn't 42, then it's nothing, and also in the fact that, to this very moment, I still can't remember the twist to Planet Of The Apes.
I like to think that first paragraph summarises me quite nicely: strange, yet mysterious and dashingly handsome. I do wish to amend one thing though. I mean, I'm not completely socially inept. The term "friends" is one that is , even if in a broad sense, is still associated with me, and I've always had an unusual sort of confidence, that has survived me this far in life (do please note that this is almost ironic sarcasm, as living in Hampshire, England, is one of the easiest, most comfortable, and most discriminationally-secure [that can't be a word] places in the world).
And so, when an old friend of mine posted on his Facebook account that he had begun blogging (shoutout to Sam Francis!), seeing as it is the weekend, and my "homework ran thin over an hour ago" (Milan Banwaith quote), I've decided, in death-defying, ruthless fashion, to "jump on the band-wagon", and see where this strange world of blogging takes me.
Before I continue, I've got to admit that I've always thought of blogging as strange. Not in the extremely strange sense that potentially anyone across the world can find out just about anything about me (not strange at all), but instead in the sense that blogging is writing down your opinions of the world. But, in reality, it is so much more than this: blogging is telling both friends and strangers your thoughts and secrets - most of which are never communicated to anyone in the real world - so reading a blog about the person truly lets you into their mind (Inception). I've always thought of that as pretty cool.
Before I leave you to ponder how this specific blog will impact the world (that being, not at all), I must reveal my ambitions in life, and true motives for writing this blog, as is tradition for a blogger's very first post. My ambition in life is to go into medicine; for as long as I can remember, this has always been what's interested me, and has motivated me in life for a career path. But still, I have a yearning - a desire - deep down. And this yearning is to write.
Ever since I wrote my first story when in Infant School (I seem to remember it being something to do with a monster and a statute), I've always had an urge to write my radical, outlandish, eccentric, and utterly impossible ideas down, and share them with the world. I'm relatively sure that writing novels is the perfect way to do this.
Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what my desire to write novels has to do with blogging? Truth be told, I myself don't know, or understand, the link (yet), though perhaps it is in the childish quote, "practice makes perfect", in that blogging will help me when I am older, and my wish to write will be enhanced because of this superfluous blog of mine.
And so, when you are older, look out for my name; James Leggett. It is a name that will be written in the stars, and shall be told for generations to come: of a novelist with great valour!
Until next we do meet, my friends. Night is drawing in, and winter is coming. I must leave you.
Until then.
