What I did in my exam.......and thanks to Mr LeatherySkin Foulmouth

Yes folks, the exam was today and the course is finally out of the way. Frankly I'm not sure what the evenings hold for me now. My improvised study was the spare room because our own proper study had a shite small desk and no door to provide the requisite level of silence needed to concentrate. But it had also become my bolthole, my "den", my sanctuary from Teenagers incessant Avril Lavigne and 50 Cent music thumping all night, or the constant sound of her mobile playing a stupid irritating tune when her friends constantly texted her all night long, or the constant phone ringing from her friends and Mini-Me (yep...still on the scene!), or from Baby's extra loud playback of our full collection of Friends DVD's, or GMD's occasional shouts up the stairs for someone to do something, or me to fix something. Now I have no reason to come here, no studying, no revising. The study now has a big new desk with loads of room to work on but I have no reason other than net surfing to go in there, or to post entries to this blog. I now do this from home because the wankers at work have applied default monitoring to all our PC's, and even my old team haven't cracked how to bypass this...yet! However, the study is still a bit too public for me, so if anyone can think of reasons for me to hide up here until the next course starts then please feel free to do so.

The exam was held at Portsmouth FC, a stadium of such crapness and grime it has it's own strange charm. A dilapedated old ground with one new stand, it sits proudly in amongst the wasteland of the railway sidings and the long rows of terraced houses bordering on it. New Premiership this is most definitely not. It's a dump, but oddly quaint and sinister at the same time. As I walked to the exam the rain was pouring down. I had got there early so that I could have one quick read of everything I had revised to ensure it was drilled in enough.

I was wearing my Chelsea FC shirt outside my black jeans, with trainers and topped off with my £250 leather jacket. Yep, I was the model fashion victim. Middle aged man trying to look cool and trendy but just looking like a "nothing fits me Joe". No matter what I buy to wear it always looks like I've nicked it.

From someone thinner than me.

A wet Tuesday morning meant that the ground was hardly a hive of activity, but perhaps it's like that anyway. A bloke stood outside the main gates. He was leathery and wizened, drawing heavily on his roll up and looked as if he'd stood there in the wind and rain for about 20 years. He smiled (or at least I thought so), so I smiled back knowing that my pre-match tension would subside just by that act alone

"Here for the exam?" I said cheerily
"Fuck off" came the sneering reply....er....so it wasn't a smile then
"You what " said I , more than slightly surprised at this response
"Fuck off Chelsea " he said

Penny dropping noises could be heard at this point. I had thrown the shirt on without thinking about where I was going and he'd obviously taken offence at this brazen display of support for my team. But I wasn't doing anything illegal, slightly dumb maybe but not illegal.

"Fuck you too" I said "I'll wear what I want"....I wasn't thinking but was a bit annoyed that my cheery greeting had been responded to like this......it also felt good because this was getting the argumentative juices flowing before the exam

"Cunt.....support your local fucking team" said Mr Leathery Skin as he drew again on his dampening lung torpedo

"This is my local fucking team" said I pointing to my shirt, as if I was defending it's dignity and honour....which I suppose I was...I was also aware that this might spiral out of control and that might not be good before the exam, especially if I was likely to be wounded " I was born in London, raised in West London and have supported them for 33 fucking years and I ain't gonna change now".....I've no idea why I started to become American at this point.

Beat that Mr Leathery Skin I thought.

"Well fuck off back up there then....we don't need your sort down here" and with that that he turned on his heel and walked into the ground. I swear he had a smile on his face. And 20 years it has taken for someone to finally say that to me. It made me feel like I really do belong down here. Was he an employee, just a fan? Was he employed to just stand there and abuse Open University students on their way in? I can imagine a normally dressed student greeting him and getting the response of

"Fuck off smartarse...think your clever doing a degree ...."

Who knows but now I can see why Portsmouth is one of the most unwelcoming grounds in England. Still, they'll be relegated soon so who fucking cares. When they are I might go back and see if Mr Leathery Skin is outside the ground just so I can lob some abuse at him and gloat.

It did serve a purpose though because for the next 10 minutes I was laughing inside myself at the whole weird encounter, which meant I wasn't winding myself up about the exam. Come the call to take our seats I felt quite alive, and all because of Mr Leathery Skins' abuse. The exam itself went quickly. We had to answer three questions from 12, in six pairs. I wrote nearly 11 sides of A4 in that time so hopefully the required 40% will be easily met.

On a final note. I walked into pub on Friday night to the usual greeting of "Dwarf" being bellowed across the bar. It was the usual greeting from Medallion Man. Yes, thats his name for me because as I've said before I am not exactly Basketball player material. Anyway he asked for a word with me. I thought it was going to be a conversation about another of his conquests in the world of women, or to tell me about another great or crap round of golf he had. They're usually good though because this boy can play, and whenever I play with him it actually seems to force my game to a higher level. Anyway he had found this site. I thought the conversation might be tense , especially over my name for him. But he was fine, in fact he called it "quality", which round this way is a very big compliment indeed. He made one good point though. I wear more jewellery than him, so for me to call him Medallion Man seems a bit strong. In light of this he will now be referred to by the name we all know him as ....Tosser.....er no...just joking mate...... I mean Shotts! The cast list is hereby updated.

Later, GrocerJack