I had a dream ages ago about calculators.

It involved understanding how these electronic boxes actually operate, what kind of technology is put into place in order for you to add up 540856 and 965956956 (It's 966497812 for those with the air of the pedantic amongst you).

In my dream I found out that calculators were driven not by AA alkali batteries and simple logorythmic tables but were infact posessed by the ghosts or spirits of long dead mathematicians who simply helped you do your maths.

This was just a dream however. Electrical appliances being possessed by supernatural non- entities is not commonplace, however I have my suspicion that my fridge has been taken over by the spirit of Kenneth Williams.

When I used to live in North Wales many moons ago I had a few school friends and it was with these friends that I shared my first raw experiences with the substance termed as 'alcohol'.

We would all go up a mountain with crates of beer and a tent and generally do teenage drunken misbehaviour. One memorable activity involved starting a camp fire and then putting near- empty aerosol cans into it, running off and hearing them explode in the fire. Once a piece of molten aerosol went through someones tent's canvas, so we thought that was it, and we continued throwing cans into the fire.

It was a lot of fun and we all had really good times...

Since then I've lost contact with everyone on that mountain bar one person. He was my best friend in school and helped me get through my teenage years with aplomb. Let's call him the Bear. I call him this because for one thing he began growing body hair at quite an early age and secondly he is unnaturally strong and can lift me up in one hand, and I'm not that dainty.

We met at the local Cub group. I first made friends with the Bear when we had to take part in a Cub sports day and we did the 3 legged race together. He scared me at first and I didn't really know what to make of him. Years later we met up again at secondary school and from there we hit it off famously.

We would make it a daily custom to verbally abuse each other in weird and wonderful ways. From the verbal form came the written form and each night we would both write a strongly worded letter or poster depicting the other in a very negative light- ok so we slagged each other off everyday. This went on for years, and I still have every abusive letter we wrote to each other.

Back to the present, and I've moved around a bit since then and so has the Bear. Through one thing and another he's now living back in North Wales. I went to visit the Bear again last week. Everytime I see him I do feel 14 years old again. It's great to see him although I'd never tell him that when sober. We still yell obscenities at each other, drink to the good times and although we may be getting bigger, badder and balder (Maybe not so 'badder') things seem to have never changed between us.

It's a friendship of a particular place in a particular time which survives today and years from now and that can only be a good thing to keep.

Well, eventually myself and PPQ will be Oxford bound so I thought I'm feeling a bit poetic (infact its hard to find me in a non poetic mood- honestly, I'll rhymes anything that moves, so long as I have the grooves to speak into booths and brush my tooths.. Genius.)

Anyway, here's a poem about Oxford as the title of the post may indicate.

Oh Oxford oh oxford, it's the place for me,
I'm moving there soon with my wife to be,
What joys await these spires so pretty
Oh Oxford oh oxford youre my new best city.

I must stop this poem now; to put on hiatus,
To ask: what qualifies a city to be 'city status'?
I thought cathedrals were needed to ensure this label,
maybe pedestrian zones and ramps for disabled

A mayor, a chairman and council thats thorough,
Maybe a county, a district or borough,
Good transport links from outside and in,
Clean sanitation and places to bin

Oh Oxford I'm sure you'll fit this criteria,
Now find me a word that rhymes with criteria.

Copyright 2006 Bonobo Love- ah sod it, keep it I don't need it, theres more where that came from!

As you know (Although it isn't public knowledge) I'm a teacher and am currently spending my summer holidays doing very little although PPQ has got me into some household chores which I love doing as it keeps me well occupied. Well it was either that or a crime spree and my neck is still tender and I didn't feel like holding up a bank.

Ironically (although it isn't- thats the real irony) I've watched John Hughes' The Breakfast Club, a tale about a group of kids who have to stay behind in school for Saturday detention. If you haven't seen it before then obviously let me not spoil the ending- you can just sctop reading now, cheers.. (Or you could just read on..)

So for the rest of us, we get to see a prom queen, a criminal, a basket case, a jock and a genius find and share their inner angst and share their experiences.

I've seen the film before and thought it a very good film, you know, the usual John Hughes fayre.

However since being a teacher the film has a slightly different feel to it. I know its 'hollywood' and its not 'meant' to be real but a part of it really bugged me. If the character of 'Bender' played by the Judd Nelson is so rebellious, why didn't he just walk out at the beginning of the film- hell- why did he turn up at all? If you told a kid they had to spend Saturday detention in school most would probably laugh at you and say 'You'll be lucky sir'.

Well, that's the general experience I've found in schools. I'm not saying this is the rule and I'm not saying this is way kids are- the 'fuck y**' attitude of today's youth but certainly if you have character like Bender, you would expect even less cooperation from him from the off.

Yes, as the plot progresses he becomes more unruly and stretches his already unsteady and negative relationship with the head teacher (I'm not sure if he is the headteacher actually..).

As regards the other four kids- I have no problem with them at all. I can totally believe that you can smoke marijuana in a school library, scream and break the glass whilst a deafening soundtrack of eighties pop blares through the loud speakers.



Above: He should have walked out sooner. Call yourself a rebel? You.. non- rebel..

She stands in the corner of the room looking at me, teasing me to come over.

But I can't, because if I do; if I go over there and hold her close to me, she'll hurt me even more. Godamn it, I can't do it even though I really want to.

Just before half term I took part in the end of term concert and, with the aid of my school band, rocked our socks off in front of the school. It was good and I really thought it to be a defining moment of my time at the school and a very fond memory. I'd played the drums as well and we'd finished the 'set' off with 'Ace of spades'. The problem was, I hadn't played drums for about a two months beforehand, so it was really only one quick rehearsal in the morning and then the real deal at lunchtime in order to get my beat back.

This intense excercise of my arms led to a really sore neck and back a few days later. After a week of pain that would come and go I went to see an osteopath. He rubbed my neck and back and told me that my muscle on my neck had siezed up completely and therefore wouldn't relax. That meant the other muscles around it were working in sympathy which led to even greater pain.

I was told not to lift heavy weights and to relax my arm on the side of my body where the pain was/is. As I'm typing this my bad arm is resting on the desk and I'm typing with one finger.

Well its not been too bad. I've just sat down nearly all week letting my arm relax and not do much else. Reading and watching TV is my life this week. The main problem is however, I love playing with my guitar, and she's just across the room from me, taunting me to come over.

And I could. I could nip over, crank her up, put her over my shoulder and let rip.. but.. I'd be back to square one again.. hurt..

I'll just have to give it a bit more time. And patience. Once the pain goes awa-

*Bonobo turns to shout at the guitar*

STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! JEEZUS!

*Bonobo leaves the room*