Here a little child I stand, / Heaving up my either hand; […]

The second last Thursday in first term of Year Nine, Jason and I bludged school for the first time together. It wasn't Jason's first time. He bludged school regularly, but I never used to miss days unless I was really sick.

In its final form it might be a phatasmagoric mixture of the poem in prose, the popular tale of folklore, the psychograph, the essay, the myth, the saga, the humoresque.

I remember at school when unspillable inkpots came in and were said to be a brilliant new idea.