Even now, in 2005, I’m still busy trying to finish my 4-year struggle (that’s already lasting for 5!) in the world of education, and it’s one hell of a job. True, I made it hard on myself, but hey... I’m only human, right?

Anyway, I’m glad when weekend arrives. Finally a time I can fully relax and don’t have to worry about school. And I had it all planned out this weekend. Firstly, a friend held his birthday party, which I would attend.

Saturday morning, 07.00: In bed.
I was brutally wakened by the phone ringing. I covered my ears as soon as possible, just to not hear the sound. I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to.
Too late.

A minute later, my father stood in the doorway to my bedroom and talked into the phone.
“Yes, he’s awake. Haaa hah. Hah. Hah. Noooo, nooo, he doesn’t mind. He was going to get up anyway”.
As he put his hand on the speaker end of the phone, he whispered to me: “It’s Hamish, from work. He wants to talk to you”.
“It’s okay, gimme the damn phone,” I barely managed to say while wiping the sleep out of my eyes, “Shite”.

While my dad held the phone in front of me, there was a flash of a second that I considered whacking it out of his hand and pulling the blanket up to over my ears and forget the world had ever existed. Damn that Hamish. I would really enjoy slowly carving his name in blood on the walls of his apartment and strangling him with his own guts. Doors sealed, windows made sound-proof, walls isolated, no-one would be able to hear his screams while I would lustfully tie his stupid weener to his overgrown dumbo ears and stuff his own two feet into his ears until the earwax would pop out of his arse. Hell, I would enjoy that.
Thoughts of torture kept twirling through my mind and I was about to brutally finish the guy off when I realized that I was strangling the phone.

“Black mate, is that you?”
The voice of Satan himself.
“Aye, ‘s me. What is it, Hamish?”
“Well, you know I don’t like to wake ye up, mate, but you know I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t important, ya?”
Did that old witch of a grandmother of yours die for the fourth time? Motherfucker.
“It’s pure bad luck, mate, bad luck I tell ye. You know that football team I always hang out with, eh?”
No.
“Well, one of their strikers broke his leg the other day and they asked me if I could fill in for ‘im today. I know it’s a bit late, but could I ask you to work for me today?”
If you can hit that football with your weener and score, I’ll do it.
“You’d be doin’ me a great favour”.
Go fuck yourself.
“Black? You still there, mate?”
“Y-Yes, I’m still here man. It’s okay, I’ll fill in for ye. I’ve got nothing better do do anyway. It’s saturday, eh?”
I hope you get fucked in the showers. Buttsnail.
“That’s fantastic, mate. I’ll do anything for ye, you name it!”
Good. Die.
“You just win that game, man. Bye”.

Half an hour later, I was stuffing my breakfast in as fast as I could. This saturday possibly couldn’t get any worse, right?

Saturday morning, 07.45: At work.
“Heeey buddy!”
I tossed my sportsbag in a corner and went into the office. “Hey chief, you’re being awfully cheerful today. D’you win the lottery?”
“Way better”.
Oh, man.
“Our sportscentre is getting of worldfame, Black. You know that, right?”
Foreplay.
“That’s why a large group of English footballplayers have decided to participate in our program”.
Intercourse.
“And you are their instructor today”.
The moneyshot.
I sighed. “Well, it does sound like fun. How long is this gonna take?”
The chief raised his shoulders. “Probably quite some time. They have the evening program”. Smile, you’re on candid camera?
“Kenny, you can’t do this to me, I’m only filling in and I’ve got this really important birthday party tonight”. I tried to sound desperate.
“Hamish called me to say you wouldn’t mind. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Shite! That goddamn son of a...”
“I guess not”.

You had to hand it to Kenny. He’s a real cool guy and he agreed to let me go home as soon as possible. He even arranged a substitute for the last part of the program.
For now, I had my hopes set on Sunday.

Sunday, 10.30 AM: In bed.
Thank the powers! No phonecalls! Maybe my weekend could be saved, after all.
I got up as fast as possible, ate my breakfast, watched ShinChan on tv, drank some coffee and brushed my teeth.

Sunday, 12.30 PM: At a friend’s
Now it was time for Formula-1. I drove to the city nearby my home village and sat down with some friends to watch the race. It was loads of fun, but we didn’t have the drivers to thank for that. No single crash or whatsoever. So we got an old dvd full of carcrashes in the rally-scene. Because it was all in Japanese (and mine’s still a little bit rusty), we started to make fun of the comments the voice-over made every time when a car flew by.
After the potato-chips and the beer / soda were consumed, we decided to head into town.

Sunday, 20.30 PM: Downtown.
“Shite. This can’t be true”, Hamish moaned. He quickly turned towards the rest of us and his voice got all squeeky. “Mates, we have to get out o’ here.”
Just as I was about to ask ‘why’, Scott glanced over Hamish’ shoulder and his eyes got wide. “We’re fucked”.
Seamus, Robert and Duncan saw it too. From out of our favorite bar came a bunch of rough-looking men with Liverpool-shirts and they were walking straight up to us. 
Didn’t look too happy, either.
“It’s those Englishmen who train with us”, I said surprised, “What’d they want with us, now?”
Suddenly, we were all running like hell. Across the whole shopping centre, ambushes were set. Their sole purpose seemed to be to get one of us and give him the beating of a lifetime. While running, I somehow managed to ask Hamish if he knew why we were being chased, while fending off attacks.
“W-Well”, Hamish said, breathing heavily, “Remember I told you about that footballteam I hang out with? We had a match with these guys last week. Maybe they’re pissed because they lost big time”.
“Well, that’s not really sportsmanl...”
“Or maybe because we called ‘m pussies afterwards”.
“You did what!” Seamus screamed. “You don’t call Liverpool-supporters ‘pussies’, you mindless bag o’ haggis!”
“Stop yellin', keep runnin'”.
It all became clear to me: that’s why Hamish called so early, that’s why he had used every excuse possible to just not be there and that’s why he called Kenny to appoint me their instructor.
We only barely managed to get our arses to safety by entering a city bus. It was getting late and everybody went home.
Since my car was still parked at Scott’s place, I got out at Scott’s stop. Finally I got to drive home.

Sunday night, 23.55 PM
With a sigh of relief I slipped into bed and flipped the lightswitch. Hell, some weekend this was. A few words of Iron Maiden appeared in my head:

“The rebel of yesterday, tomorrow's fool
Who are you kidding being that cool?
...
A weekend warrior lately
A weekend warrior sometimes
A weekend warrior maybe you ain't
that way anymore”

I grinned. Damn, Bruce was right.
Monday tomorrow. Finally some peace and quiet.