Atlantis High Guides Archives - Page 23 of 30

COMMANDER VERMONT’S GUIDE TO SHINY BOOTS 1

COMMANDER VERMONT’S GUIDE TO SHINY BOOTS

“Commander Vermont here my good men and it is my duty to Queen and Country to make sure that you know how important it is to shine your boots. So fall in soldiers and I can talk to you about spit and polish.”

BOOTS ‘N ALL

Boots should be shiny, that’s all there is to it. You can spend all the time you like making sure that you use hospital corners when you make your bed. You can take a whole day ironing your uniform so that the creases match the ones on my face. You can stand still for hours staring at nothing while I shout at you. But the most important thing, the be all and end all of a soldier is his boots.

My father was a military man. And my father’s father. And my father’s father’s father. And my father’s father’s father’s mother. And they all knew how to shine their boots.

In my family you learn how to shine when you are 5 months old. We have a ceremony where the family gather together much as they would to celebrate a birthday or anniversary. The babe is given his or her very own monogrammed kit. It contains all the essentials of a good shine. A brush, a tub of top quality polish and a cloth.

The babe is then taught how to polish his booties and it is tradition that if the babe learns how to do this by the time he is six months old that he or she will go into the army. If he or she is seven months then it is a naval life for them. If he or she is eight months then they will join the airforce. But if the babe gets to nine months and still doesn’t know how to get a decent shine on those booties the child will be a civilian.
This happened to my brother’s son, Johnny and that side of the family has never been the same again. To say that Johnny is a disappointment to the family name is a gross understatement. We do not, cannot invite him to family functions as his shoes really let the side down and make us a laughing stock in military circles.

Thankfully I have never had to worry myself. I learnt how to polish when I was five and a half months old. And Octavia – well, my darling girl had an inherent knowledge of shoemanship. She was just 4 months old when she toddled over to the store and bought her very first tub of polish. That evening I came home to find that all my boots, shoes, buttons and collection of brass band equipment had been polished to within an inch of their lives.

The history of boot polishing is a fascinating one that I have spent a great deal of time researching. It all started in 1286 when Sir Archibold Humphreys invaded the tropical rainforest area of Kilinmefeet.

Archie and his band of soldiers were wearing standard issue boots, size 14, 21 eye laces. They were issued scuffed such was the quality of leather in that day and age. After many days of hacking his way through the rainforest, Archie grew tired of his men getting dragged away by passing anacondas. There they were, walking through the undergrowth when suddenly and without warning a snake would appear from a tree above and drag a soldier away.

COACH SHANE’S GUIDE TO EASTER 2

COACH SHANE’S GUIDE TO EASTER

I haven’t ever forgotten my childhood Easter’s. These days I treat every kid in the school to a fancy Easter Egg at Christmas. And I always make sure I leave one out for Santa because he loves Easter Eggs.

Last year Bad Mood kidnapped the Easter Bunny. The Easter Bunny was making his way through Sunset Cove with his reindeer and his sleigh in the dead of night and Bad Mood decided that she would steal all the eggs and the bunny as well.

But the Easter Bunny is magic as we all know and somehow Fluffy Muffin found out what had happened and came to the Easter Bunny’s rescue. No one saw Bad Mood for weeks after that. Some say that Fluffy Muffin force fed Bad Mood hundreds of Easter Eggs until she was sick and other’s say Fluffy Muffin told Bad Mood that if she kept being bad then he’d make sure Bad Mood helped deliver the Easter Eggs each year with the Easter Bunny.

Now that I’m an adult and the Easter Bunny doesn’t drop off eggs to me anymore, I have to go and see him myself. We swap secrets. He tells me how he makes all his eggs and delivers them all over the world and tell him how to look good, feel good and get the best tan. We have a great relationship and sometimes I wonder whether the Easter Bunny might be my ideal partner.

Here’s some jokes he told me this week:

Q: How do bunnies stay healthy?
A: Eggercise

Q: What do you get when you cross a chicken and the Easter Bunny?
A: A good Easter.

Q: What do you call Easter when you are hopping around?
A: Hoppy Easter!

Q: “Why are you studying your Easter candy?”
A: “I’m trying to decide which came first-the chocolate chicken or the chocolate egg!”

Right well that’s it from me – the Easter Bunny and I are going surfing.

COACH SHANE’S GUIDE TO EASTER 1

COACH SHANE’S GUIDE TO EASTER

“Hey there, I’m Coach Shane and I’d like to take the time to tell you all about my childhood Easter experiences in Sunset Cove…”

Easter in Sunset Cove

As you’ll know from Mr Fluffy Muffin, Easter in Sunset Cove is a week long celebration which makes it understandble why Sunset Cove is in the record books for consuming almost a 1/4 of the world’s easter eggs each year.

When I was younger my family lived right on the edge of town. Every Sunday we’d drive into Church and meet up with our grandfather on the way.

Our Mum’s father, “Pops”, was senile long before I was born, and only went downhill from there. The worst thing after Church was getting stuck behind Pops on his way home again. He would drive his old 4WD 10 KPH down the middle of the road, completely unaware of our beeping, yelling, or ill-advised attempts at passing him. Blind as a bat in one eye to begin with and deaf from old age, he had no business being behind the wheel of ANYthing.

But my first memories of Easter were when I was 4 years old. My brother and I woke up on Easter Morning and Pops, all excitedly, told us the Easter bunny had been and pooped out minature eggs all over the garden. We ran out there like we were on fire and started picking them all up. Only after we’d eaten a few did Pops tell us that that’s where our pet goat had slept last night.

I don’t think he realised himself what the implications of this was because he was eating the rotten little brown things too. But, hey, I was only 4 and he was of course 94.

In later years I remember the great Sunset Cove Downhill Egg Race. We’d entered every year and never won. But that year in ’83 Pops had a great idea. He gave us a little piece of blu-tack that we stuck between our egg and the spoon. And while we were running down hill as fast as our legs would carry us, Pops was tripping up the other kids and making them land face first in their eggs.

We raced over the finish line and got handed over our years supply of chocolate eggs. Then we piled them on the back of Pop’s pick up and sat on the back watching the long line of traffic behind us as we stuffed our faces with chocolate.

The next year I was teaching other kids how to cheat, look good and get away with it.

I always like to win now, especially if I look good doing it. I guess that’s why I became a Coach.

VITA’S MOTHER’S GUIDE TO THE ROMANCE OF SPAIN 2

VITA’S MOTHER’S GUIDE TO THE ROMANCE OF SPAIN

After dinner everyone gathers in the village square to watch the Flamenco dancers. I am of course the best dancer there is but I like to look at how the other girls do their thing and I know that they will always drag me up to dance because of my beauty and personality and my passion for the dance.

It was on a night like this that I met my first love. His name was Paulo and he was a bullfighter. He has the most beautiful blue eyes and black hair that you have ever seen and he loved to perform the death defying feats of bull fighting.

The only trouble was that he had a blue cape. He was not the most successful matador in the world but he was the best looking and so the audience was mostly women on the days that he was fighting.

Paulo was a showman and he certainly knew how to get the crowd up on their feet. But this backfired on him one sultry afternoon in Seville. Paulo was in the ring for a show by the Young Matador Association. He was the third matador to enter the ring and the crowd were looking forward to a good show. The first two young matadors had been taken away on stretchers after a particularly nasty bull had managed to maim them with his horns.

Paulo wasn’t worried as he knew that with a flick of his cape and a flutter of his eyelashes that the bull would be won over and that the crowd would be screaming his name.

Paulo entered the arena and women in the stands started to flutter their eyelashes and their fans in anticipation of a great show. Paulo strode around the arena swirling his blue cape as the bull was let loose and charged towards Paulo with thunder in his steps. The ground shook as the bull ran faster and faster, head dipped and horns at the ready to impale Paulo’s beautiful bronzed body.

The crowd gasped in unison as the bull got closer to Paulo and just at the precise second that Paulo was about to pull his cape away and let the bull run past him, the bull screeched to a halt and rolled over on its back in submission.

The crowd went wild; Paulo had won over the bull! Such a feat had never before been seen and Paulo was a national hero. His fame only served to make his ego and vanity bigger as the days passed and it was with a big head and an arrogant stare that he entered the bullring in Madrid.

Once again, Paulo swaggered around the ring with his blue cape held at this side. The bull ran into the ring and charged. The audience leapt to their feet in anticipation of the famous move that Paulo was about to make. Paulo smiled wildly as he swept the cape away at just the right second and … caught himself in the eye, fell over and was trampled by the bull.

I never saw Paulo again. His whole attitude changed after he came out of the ring bruised and blinded by the cape. His adoring audience turned against him, angry that their hard earned pesetas had been wasted on a flouncey fake like Paulo. He went to live in the hills around Majorca and became a pianist.

He might well be out of my life but whenever I return to Spain and spend time in the hills I remember Paulo and my summer of romance with him all that time ago…

VITA’S MOTHER’S GUIDE TO THE ROMANCE OF SPAIN 1

VITA’S MOTHER’S GUIDE TO THE ROMANCE OF SPAIN

“Ola, I am Senora Vitensa, mother of Vita and I like Spain.”

SPAIN

Spain is a big country and it is verrry beautiful. It has the sea and the hills and the bulls and the olives.
I have been there many times and I always stay in a little town called Alamadra, which is near the southern tip of the country.

The village is set up on a hillside that is covered with vines and olive trees. I stay in an old farmhouse cottage that looks out over the blue waters of the Mediterranean and at night when the crickets start to chirp I sit on my balcony and watch the stars.

My mother’s mother’s friend’s dog came from Spain and so it is dear to my heart. I visit there as much as I can to become one with the earth and the soil and the paella.

I like to stay on my own so that I can be on my own.

That means that I can listen to the noises of the chickens, which I love. They remind me of my mother because she used to like Roast Chicken for dinner on a Sunday. That is from my English side.

But from my Spanish side I like the siestas in the afternoon. Vita has learned this from me and always has a nap at Atlantis High. Violet never understands that she simply has to lie down after lunch and that she has to sleep for a few hours.

It is not Vita’s fault that the stupid school system means that she wakes up when everyone has left for the day. If they made all the kids have siestas then they might be much happier than they are now. And if they are happy then they will learn.

Anyway, after my siesta in Spain I get up and have a swim. It is so warm in the water there and there are no sharks swimming near your toes. And no Beanie either – he always gets in the way when I try to swim in Sunset Cove.

After my swim I sit on my balcony and let the sunshine dry my hair while I read a book by Federico Garcia Lorca. Then I get ready for the evening.

In Spain people eat their dinner at about 9 o’clock. They meet together and have a very slow dinner. There are lots of tapas, which are little dishes of food that you can share with others. Only I do not like to share.

Then I have some paella, which is seafood, and rice and it is really very tasty, even though I am allergic to rice I like to eat the paella because that is what all the locals eat and they would look at me strangely if I ordered a hamburger.

There is a lot of wine drunk with the dinner and a lot of laughter and stories. The best stories are told by the old ladies who sit in their black clothes and drip their paella into their wrinkled faces. They smile through missing teeth and tell tales of the Flamenco and the gypsies. And of the way that the olives tasted when they were young and you had to climb hills as big as Mount Everest to catch an olive and that youngsters are so lucky today that all they have to do is to reach out of their window and pluck an olive off a tree.