The adventures of 'Sir' Myself

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about myself and the adventures I had as a child.

Submitted: December 01, 2011

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Submitted: December 01, 2011

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Most of my adventures under the age of ten involved a friend, Jamie. Jamie had loose black hair and had an uncanny resemblance to Rowan Atkinson, although his personality differed and he was a lot younger, he also had a better complexion, no offence Mr Atkinson.

One such adventure was linked with fire, a curious thing at a young age. It was a warm dry summer and we had been snooping around his father’s garage. We had found a lighter, but it didn’t seem to work, ‘Ah!’ I thought, ‘Perhaps it needs some gas?’. Conveniently we had found gas moments before. But wait, we can’t fill it here and risk being caught and punished! So we decided to head for one our many hideouts. The hideout was constructed of large concrete blocks that had some use on the airbase but were stacked in a shape which provided nooks and crannies we could crawl into, to an imaginative mind it became a fortress where we could be knights and preform tremendous deeds of bravery and valour, or be mischievous and daft. So, the fort was held by ‘Sir’ Jamie and ‘Sir’ myself. We had layered the floor with dry summer grass for comfort while we began our experiments. Jamie had the magical tools and began to fill the lighter, how we knew how to do this I don’t know. Anyway, after a period of time Jamie fondled with the lighter and couldn’t get it to work. I began to get frustrated and my excitement ebbed away. In my decreasing patience I snatched the lighter and gas from Jamie thinking I could do a better job. After I had played with the items I spun the flint. It was at this point when the first sparks flew from the lighter and shed light on our mistake.

Badly filling a lighter with highly combustible gas in a tightly confined space layered with perfect tinder were all the grand ingredients for a real good thrashing from our parents. Unfortunately it was too late. The sparks had flown, so had our eye lashes, eyebrows and fringes. There was an explosion of bright yellow followed by a whiff of singed hair. We sat for a moment blinded and shocked not realising what had happened nor taking heed of the comfortable fire that was licking the walls of the fort. We sat for a second pondering what to do. In our divine wisdom we decided abandon bravery and valour and evacuate the fort, in laments terms, peg it.

Glad that our adventure had caused no harm to either knight we each galloped home for a banquet. After a brief time of bumbling around the house, no doubt pestering my sisters. My mother began to get curious, whether this was because I looked guilty, barbequed, or smelt like my sisters hair straighteners, I don’t know. I remember being sat in the interrogation chair, being poked and prodded by the barbaric enemy for answers about why I looked like looked like a thinner Matt Lucas. I finally broke and provided the full whereabouts of the fortress, who my calibrators were and the devilry we had been up to. I felt the vicious punishment of the barbarians that day. Revelations I had learnt were; let Mr Bean do the daft things. It’s not fashionable to be a Matt Lucas lookalike under ten years old.

'Sir' Myself


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