Martin at the darts

This is an activity from the A215 Creative Writing Course that I’m doing with the OU. The idea is to use the same character used in ‘Martin the opportunist’ (a previous post) to depict a first-person narration of the same character giving an account of a past situation. (7.4 Part 2).

Yeah, so as I was saying before Ian interrupted me, it was about this time last year that we all went to the darts to watch Phil Taylor v Raymond Van Barneveld at the Reebok stadium in Bolton. When we eventually got into the place, after queuing for absolutely ages, we decided that the first priority was to get the beers in. Let’s be honest, what else is a group of lads going to do at the darts, apart from get tanked up and make some noise.

So, having got the beers in, Jim, Fred Ian and me had a bit of a totter around, looking for talent and a decent seat. We got the seat; to be honest it was ace because we could see the hockey, and we were smack bang in the middle of the singing revellers. I can hear them now, singing: ‘he’s fat, he’s from Stoke and his wife likes a good poke, Phil Taylor.’

Anyway, I decided that I needed a slash after bursting the seal with that ice cold pint of Fosters, so I went off to find the bogs, fighting my way through all the keg heads en-route. I was just about to enter the bog when I saw a short fat bloke walking down the corridor in the opposite direction. I thought to myself that it looked like Taylor, from behind: not that I’ve studied him from behind, or anything like that, before any of you smart arses say anything. I had to follow him. It was Taylor! I was surprised because he was on his own, without a group of muscle heads surrounding him. Anyway, I caught up to him and pretended to ask him for his autograph: he loved that, surprise, surprise. I managed to keep him taking for about 5 minutes: about himself of course, but so what, it was Phil Taylor. Anyway, just as he was about to go he gave me some darts. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve still got them at home.

‘Sorry, what did you say, Ian?’

‘I said that you are talking crap, Martin, as usual’

‘Don’t listen to him, he’s jealous because I got the darts and he didn’t. Anyway I need the bog.’

Okay lads, now that Martin has gone I’ll tell you the truth about what really happened at the darts. I think the amount of beer he drank must have affected his memory. Well, for a start, Fred wasn’t there; he was off work, looking after his dad. It was me, Scott, Jim and Martin that went. Secondly, we got there fairly early, so we didn’t have to queue for that long; 5 minutes maybe! We did get the beers in, first thing, so at least that part of the story is true. The biggest load of crap though is the part about Taylor giving him some darts. Let’s face it, it would have been difficult for Taylor to do that, seeing as he had to pull out the previous night because of tendonitis. Martin is my brother, but he doesn’t half exaggerate.

About Sean

I live in my own thoughts, chat to imaginary friends, and survive primarily on Snickers and Nescafe. I work full-time and study part-time for a BA in English Literature with the OU. Home is the North West of England, and my heroes are those authors that can make miracles out of paper and words…… “The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.” – Mark Twain.
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One Response to Martin at the darts

  1. jensenempire2551 says:

    Thanks for dropping by to have a read, the above was just fabulous…


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