"An episode of GCSE cheesy trauma"
I developed a fascination with cheese when I was a wee boy due to a plasticine man and his dog and it took a hold of my life in a manner I couldn’t comprehend.
A nervous child, I found solace in cheese when a moment of panic arrived. I’d carry a matchbox sized block of mature cheddar with me at all times; it was really like a security blanket to me and I did not feel comfortable without one. It’d accompany me everywhere; school trips, family holidays, visits to relatives etc. And when it was getting a bit manky I'd just get a fresh one.
So anyway long story short:
Come the day of my Woodwork GCSE exam and I’m scrambling around trying to get all my stuff together. I’m looking for my pencil case, looking for my pencil case, looking for my pencil case but it is nowhere to be found so I get all the things that I’d need for the exam: pencil, sharpener, folding ruler, rubber, all from my Dad's office supplies and stuff them into my blazer pocket…which was already accommodating my block of Cathedral City.
Half an hour into my exam and I’m drawing a pretty spectacular square when all of the sudden one of the teachers on cheat patrol brushes past me and nudges my arm. The square is no longer a square but some kind of hideous disfigurement of a square. NIGHTMARE. I go into my pocket, pull out the rubber and start removing the crooked line. The line disappears but so does the paper I’m drawing on and the pungent aroma of Somerset mature cheddar fills my nostrils. I look at my hand and in my fingers is my cheesy comforter; slightly squashed with a corner rubbed flat. The line is hidden under a smooth layer of cheese and I don’t know what to do. The lad at the desk next to me catches a whiff, looks at me and sees the clumped dairy product in my hand. He bursts out laughing, points at me and it catches and spreads outwards like ripples in a pond, the entire hall erupting into laughter.
After that the kids at school would point and laugh; call me Rubber Cheese Boy. They’d throw rubbers at me in the playground and say, “Have some cheese”. I wished they’d have thrown cheese at me and said, “Have some rubbers”. At least then I’d have had loads of cheese. One day they replaced the cheese on a butty my mum had made for me with rubbers.
The trauma of those days is over now and I laugh in the face of those who tormented me.
My company is Rubber Cheese and this was my story.