A Lay Made About the Year Of The City

just to make clear, this isnt my work, its by a guy called Thomas Babbington Macauly (i know awesome name :D), a british poet from a while back. this poem is about a Roman battle against some guy called Sextus (i think). any way, get some culture! go!

Lars Porsena of Closium
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.

East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.

The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain,
From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine;

From lordly Volaterræ,
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old;
From seagirt Populonia,
Whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops
Fringing the southern sky;

From the proud mart of Pisæ,
Queen of the western waves,
Where ride Massilia's triremes
Heavy with fair-haired slaves;
From where sweet Clanis wanders
Through corn and vines and flowers;
From where Cortona lifts to heaven
Her diadem of towers.

Tall are the oaks whose acorns
Drop in dark Auser's rill;
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs
Of the Ciminian hill;
Beyond all streams Clitumnus
Is to the herdsman dear;
Best of all pools the fowler loves
The great Volsinian mere.

But now no stroke of woodman
Is heard by Auser's rill;
No hunter tracks the stag's green path
Up the Ciminian hill;
Unwatched along Clitumnus
Grazes the milk-white steer;
Unharmed the water fowl may dip
In the Volsminian mere.

The harvests of Arretium,
This year, old men shall reap;
This year, young boys in Umbro
Shall plunge the struggling sheep;
And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must shall foam
Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to Rome.

There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land,
Who alway by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand:
Evening and morn the Thirty
Have turned the verses o'er,
Traced from the right on linen white
By mighty seers of yore.

And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given:
``Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven;
Go, and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome;
And hang round Nurscia's altars
The golden shields of Rome.''

And now hath every city
Sent up her tale of men;
The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten.
Before the gates of Sutrium
Is met the great array.
A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day.

For all the Etruscan armies
Were ranged beneath his eye,
And many a banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following
To join the muster came
The Tusculan Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name.

But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign
To Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city,
The throng stopped up the ways;
A fearful sight it was to see
Through two long nights and days.

For aged folks on crutches,
And women great with child,
And mothers sobbing over babes
That clung to them and smiled,
And sick men borne in litters
High on the necks of slaves,
And troops of sun-burned husbandmen
With reaping-hooks and staves,

And droves of mules and asses
Laden with skins of wine,
And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
And endless herds of kine,
And endless trains of wagons
That creaked beneath the weight
Of corn-sacks and of household goods,
Choked every roaring gate.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian,
Could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages
Red in the midnight sky.
The Fathers of the City,
They sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman come
With tidings of dismay.

To eastward and to westward
Have spread the Tuscan bands;
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
In Crustumerium stands.
Verbenna down to Ostia
Hath wasted all the plain;
Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
And the stout guards are slain.

I wis, in all the Senate,
There was no heart so bold,
But sore it ached, and fast it beat,
When that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul,
Up rose the Fathers all;
In haste they girded up their gowns,
And hied them to the wall.

They held a council standing,
Before the River-Gate;
Short time was there, ye well may guess,
For musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly:
``The bridge must straight go down;
For, since Janiculum is lost,
Nought else can save the town.''

Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear:
``To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
Lars Porsena is here.''
On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.

And nearer fast and nearer
Doth the red whirlwind come;
And louder still and still more loud,
From underneath that rolling cloud,
Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud,
The trampling, and the hum.
And plainly and more plainly
Now through the gloom appears,
Far to left and far to right,
In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright,
The long array of spears.

And plainly and more plainly,
Above that glimmering line,
Now might ye see the banners
Of twelve fair cities shine;
But the banner of proud Clusium
Was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian,
The terror of the Gaul.

And plainly and more plainly
Now might the burghers know,
By port and vest, by horse and crest,
Each warlike Lucumo.
There Cilnius of Arretium
On his fleet roan was seen;
And Astur of the four-fold shield,
Girt with the brand none else may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
And dark Verbenna from the hold
By reedy Thrasymene.

Fast by the royal standard,
O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame.

But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the house-tops was no woman
But spat towards him and hissed,
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.

But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
``Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town?''

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate:
``To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods,

``And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?

``Haul down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?''

Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
A Ramnian proud was he:
``Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee.''
And out spake strong Herminius;
Of Titian blood was he:
``I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee.''

``Horatius,'' quoth the Consul,
``As thou sayest, so let it be.''
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.

Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high,
And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold:
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.

Now while the Three were tightening
Their harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe:
And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Come flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.

The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose:
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrrow way;

Aunus from green Tifernum,
Lord of the Hill of Vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war,
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that gray crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum lowers
O'er the pale waves of Nar.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath;
Herminius struck at Seius,
And clove him to the teeth;
At Picus brave Horatius
Darted one fiery thrust;
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.

Then Ocnus of Falerii
Rushed on the Roman Three;
And Lausulus of Urgo,
The rover of the sea;
And Aruns of Volsinium,
Who slew the great wild boar,
The great wild boar that had his den
Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
Along Albinia's shore.

Herminius smote down Aruns:
Lartius laid Ocnus low:
Right to the heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.
``Lie there,'' he cried, ``fell pirate!
No more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
The track of thy destroying bark.
No more Campania's hinds shall fly
To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail.''

But now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears' lengths from the entrance
Halted that deep array,
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.

But hark! the cry is Astur:
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the four-fold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.

He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, ``The she-wolf's litter
Stand savagely at bay:
But will ye dare to follow,
If Astur clears the way?''

Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.

He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space;
Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.

And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder smitten oak:
Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.

On Astur's throat Horatius
Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel.
``And see,'' he cried, ``the welcome,
Fair guests, that waits you here!
What noble Lucomo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer?''

But at his haughty challange
A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread,
Along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess,
Nor men of lordly race;
For all Etruria's noblest
Were round the fatal place.

But all Etruria's noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,
In the path the dauntless Three:
And, from the ghastly entrance
Where those bold Romans stood,
All shrank, like boys who unaware,
Ranging the woods to start a hare,
Come to the mouth of the dark lair
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
Lies amidst bones and blood.

Was none who would be foremost
To lead such dire attack;
But those behind cried, ``Forward!''
And those before cried, ``Back!''
And backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array;
And on the tossing sea of steel
To and frow the standards reel;
And the victorious trumpet-peal
Dies fitfully away.

Yet one man for one moment
Strode out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud.
``Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
Now welcome to thy home!
Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome.''

Thrice looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread:
And, white with fear and hatred,
Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay.

But meanwhile axe and lever
Have manfully been plied;
And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.
``Come back, come back, Horatius!''
Loud cried the Fathers all.
``Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall!''

Back darted Spurius Lartius;
Herminius darted back:
And, as they passed, beneath their feet
They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.

But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam,
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream:
And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken
When first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard,
And tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb and bounded,
Rejoicing to be free,
And whirling down, in fierce career,
Battlement, and plank, and pier,
Rushed headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
``Down with him!'' cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face.
``Now yield thee,'' cried Lars Porsena,
``Now yield thee to our grace.''

Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see;
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus nought spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.

``Oh, Tiber! Father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day!''
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges,
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood
Safe to the landing place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely
By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber
Bare bravely up his chin.

``Curse on him!'' quoth false Sextus;
``Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town!''
``Heaven help him!'' quoth Lars Porsena
``And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before.''

And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers;
To press his gory hands;
And now, with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-Gate
Borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plough from morn till night;
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there is stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.

It stands in the Comitium
Plain for all folk to see;
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee:
And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home;
And wives still pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.

And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;

When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;

When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

Epic Win; Life Style.

Now a days, its very easy to get swallowed up by the wholly unsatisfying melancholy that swills around in day to day life; its easy for us to get down. But what we need to do is look at the funny side of life; the side were, every so often, little nuggets of concentrated niceness make us step back for a moment, and smile; we need to look, not at the epic fails of society, but at life's Epic Wins! And here are a few of mine.... go!


On the way into town, I saw some interesting graffiti on a small indiscreet wall. As I got closer, I noticed it said, “Vampires do NOT sparkle.”

My neighbor had left the boot wide open during the night, and only noticed at 7:30 in the morning, as i walked past going to school. As she drove off to work, i glanced up and saw a badger sticking its head out the side window.

My little sister displayed her excitement at getting chicken fajitas for dinner by doing the robot and procliaming it 'legen...DARY!!'

In town, i was by the milkshake parlour in L1. An old lady had spilt two milkshakes on the floor. A gaggle of burly student men came to help her, and she clearly said, "At least my milkshakes still bring all the boys to the yard."

My auntie made homemade bread and when she put yeast into the water to activate it, she said “Arise, my frozen zombies Arise!!” without a glimmer of a smile and eyes full of lust.


If you have anything else about life's wins, then comment!! and leave you name!!
All in all, life can be sooo legendary.

The Underdog...

In every pack, there's an underdog. The one swimming against the current, fighting to uphold their honor. When lies corrupt and deceit destroys the basis of trust, a new underdog rears their head. but this time, its yourself. The fight has changed, however, now its to reassert your self in the place you took for granted, and to prove those lies wrong; Its a difficult thing, after the poisonous thorn in you foot has issued its toxin, but staying strong is a must. It feels like your lost in the moment, like you losing to win and that you can get away from it all. But running isn't the answer; turning to the enemy, staring straight into their eyes and smiling. that's the answer. totally psyke them out, warp their little minds! Also, true friends, ones who have proved irrefutably their worth, are the key to winning the battle. They help stay you positive and take pride in your slamming of those darned liars! But ultimately, its your state of mind which will discern whether you'll win or loose. And, of course, a little thing called time. Legendary.

The Allotment

This Blog is about an event that happened to me a few months ago, just before we were about to start back at school. The back story was that i was on my way too town to buy a book, and i was on the 82 bus. This story may not fit in to what you'd expect from me and this blog, especially after my last blog, but it was an awesome day. Awesome, but terribly sad. This is the story of the allotment... go!

so there I was, sitting on the 82 bus, which was unusually full for the time of day, sitting next too an old man with a bag bursting full of vegetables. His grand daughter was behind us, and she was speaking with the grand pa, talking about an allotment. The old man, who's name was George, spotted me looking at the bag of produce, and started to talk to me. He said, “ son, do you like fresh veg?” I didn't answer straight away, I looked from George, too his beautiful granddaughter, and I answered, 'yea, I'm known to have a carrot or two, why?' at this point, charlotte smiled, and said softly, 'wanna see our allotment? Its by the next stop.' she must of sensed my hesitance, because she continued in a less pressing manner, “ me, my grandpa and my mates are going, we won't be long, but you don't have to...' I looked over her shoulder and saw a gaggle of 5 girls, and one guy, on the back row, craning their necks too nose in on our conversation, so I smiled, and replied ' yea, why not?'
So we got off, and me and the band of hippies set off down a road I'd never been down before. It was old, but reassuringly strong, huge oaks caressing the sky, and unkempt grass verges swayed in the slight breeze of the early morning. We walked through a kissing gate, and down a narrow ally in single file, one of the hippies running a stick across the railings as she walked, the sound echoing down the passage. Charlotte was taking the lead, just a head of me, and she glanced back smiling a toothy grin from ear to ear, and winking.
As the ally peeled off, the group bunched around a huge metal railing gate which encompassed a huge plot of land. George unlocked the padlock, and everybody crammed in, me bringing up the rear. I was astounded by this suburban oasis, this thoroughly out of place pasture, brimming with life. Cats scampered about, chasing flocks of starlings, the ground swelled with fruit and vegetables; carrot stalks broke the ground by the paths, potato bushels domineered great clumps of the garden , cabbage heads swelled visibly in the fresh morning sun and great stalks of sweetcorn casted shade over metal bins full of cultivating mushrooms. The perimeter was lined with trees, groaning under the weight of the late autumn fruit; apples and pears of all kinds hid among the browning leaves.
Charlotte walked over to me, hugged me and whispered in my ear, 'welcome to paradise'. And she was right, the place was magical. I walked over to a shed, by which George was standing breathing deeply but contentedly. 'I asked the old man, is there anything at all I can do?'
And there was. In fact there was a lot to do; Weeding, harvesting, hoeing and making friends. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon before we knew it, but non of us were worried, we had crates full of produce, and a fantastic lunch! We sat around a makeshift camp-fire, talking for at least an hour. George told me some amazing stories. He was dyeing, slowly, and even the slightest movement pained him dreadfully, but still, everyday he went down to that allotment to busy himself, to immerse himself in a life of which he loved. Without it the allotment, he would of given up years ago, when his wife died. This was her legacy, and he was determined to keep it alive, for her sake. And so he had. After all, he said, 'through sickness and health.' that man. that group of people. They were legendary.

The Day Fraz Forgot

As an insomniac, I'm used to missing things. What I mean is, I don't get to sleep very well, so when I'm finally in the land of nod, its difficult to wake me up, so at weekends and holidays, I generally miss the mornings activities. This is a story about me missing something big. But sleeping through it, wasn't the explanation... Go!

October 31st, all hallows' eve. The night was dark, and the sound of children getting sugar highs drifted across the ordinarily quiet cul-de-sac. I had arrived guestless and late, too a Halloween tradition of mine; a party at my father's. The regulars were there, mainly mothers and grandmothers of my little sister's friends, who all greeted me warmly like a stranger; with forced smiles on their faces and doubt in their eyes, whilst others, who were new to the seasons festivities look helplessly and vacantly on clutching their babies to their chest, wondering why, oh why had they bought such a ridiculous outfit for their young ones to wear (namely daft pumpkin romper-suits or sailor costumes).
With those who recognised me in my awesome suit, the usual party chatter began; clichéd comments on the food, fleeting remarks on the music and quick clarifications on just who they were, as if that would prolong the dying conversation. But soon, as many of the old folks nodded of in their chairs, the few other males which hadn't killed themselves yet found me. We all sat around the TV, unashamedly flicking through the sci-fi channels looking for the bionic woman re-runs, when the conversation turned to their recent adventures. At this point I zoned out and started to gorge my self on the sweets left unwittingly behind by the small children, deciding this topic had nothing to do with me.
Or so I thought. Paul, a chemist, poked my arm and nodded to the expectant faces and repeated, 'how did you find yesterday, huh? Hope we didn't bore you too much!' At this, the rest of the men laughed raucously, and I laughed along bemusedly, wondering why they thought I had hung out with them yesterday. Changing the subject, I turned to my dad, 'tomorrow's Saturday right? What we getting up too?' at this, my dad gave me a quizzical look.
'today's Saturday, son.' he said slowly, 'tomorrow's Sunday.'
'no, no, no,' I laughed, ' if yesterday was Thursday, then today in Friday.'
turns out, it wasn't. I had forgotten Friday. I had lost a whole day, and I didn't drink a drop! I explained this to my dad, how I didn't have a clue what had happened, so he filled me in...

We had risen early, and met at Paul's. His house is big, I've been there a lot with my dad, with oak timber framing and rustic slate flooring, it was really nice. But we didn't stay long, instead we all got into his people carrier, to Costco! Yeah, Costco. We had pooled together to buy £40 worth of sweets and £40 worth of fireworks. Yeah, fireworks, from Costco. One person isn't even allowed to buy that many, we had to split it up between us. So then we went back too my dad's house, and watched a whole load of Warehouse 13, which took into the evening. Firework time.
Now, something i've got to tell you about Paul, is the reason he got into chemistry in the first place was to blow stuff up. So we left him to light the fireworks, to make him happy, and shut up. Mis. Take. Now i'm not too sure on the details, but then end result was impromptu bonfire in my dad's back garden. Paul had set the shed on ablaze. Now I didn't believe this fully until my dad pointed out of the window, were, clearly visible, stood a quivering husk of what used to be a shed, all blackened and charred.
Too this day, I still don't remember that day. And my dad still hasn't got a new shed, but still; how legendary was that!?

The Big One...

Im Fraz. many of you may know me. many may not. I strive to be awesome, with the help of those around me. This is my first blog, the first of many. This my freinds, is the story of the big one... go!

20 minutes from closing, the fair was virtually empty... black clouds loomed over head, screaming their fury with claps of thunder and bolts of lightening! the queue behind me was short, the line a head, dwindling.... as luck would have it, fate intervened causing me, a humble servant to the lord adrenaline, to be placed at the front of the ride....
A cruel breeze whipped up as we reached 50ft, the tension mounted as we passed 100. a tiny screech of terror seeped out of an unknown lady behind me, foreshadowing the danger ahead of us! thunder rolled and lightening flashed, in unison with our descent. 50, 60 70, finally 80 miles an hour we reached; hurtling down the coaster, our tiny carriages clutching to the tracks tighter then any of its terrified passengers.
Rain whipped our faces, icy and malevolent, it lashed down as we cut though it at break neck speed, scream for dear life as the darkness of our decent broke into the brilliant light of the famous illuminations. the salty sea breeze made our nostrils flare, the cold pressure of the night made our skin itch, but still the ride plummeted on, around tilting corner and down corkscrews until finally, mercifully, it stopped.
We rose from our seats, some kissing the ground, our punching the air, but I, I stood slowly up, feeling a strength coursing through my veins, after a thrill for which I have yearned for, for so long. that ride; that night. it was legendary