Jonesy

Ah yes, Jonesy. I remember him. Short fellow, strange purple tint to his skin. Yes, he was the wicketsman during my initiation in '47. Of course, back then we only had 5 minutes to complete the entire obstacle course. I did it with mere seconds to spare - I HAD to! There was no way I was going to wait another year to get in, so I jolly well gave it my all.

There I was, 6am one misty November morning, poised at the starting line with three other young chaps. I could only just hear the goading of the cadets over the buzz of my concentration. The crisp morning air burned through my nostrils like strong piss, and I began to sweat a cold, anticipatory sweat. It seemed like forever before the crowd started to settle, but eventually they did, and the head boy walked up to the sideline.

The whistle sounded a shrill peep signalling the beginning of the test. I unbuckled my standard issue corduroys, gritted my teeth, gave Jonesy a knowing wink and grabbed my ankles. You'll know I'm not exaggerating when I say it was the most painful experience I've been through in my entire, sordid little life. I ran as fast as I dare, trying hard not to suck the wicket up into more inaccessible areas, and at 4:56 I crossed the finish line. It took seven weeks to remove the splinters.

Aye, I'll never forget Jonesy...