Excuses, Excuses...and Consequences


Lantern Swinger
Many moons ago when I was enduring the school system, I was never very fond of PE…my ability to throw and catch were well below par so I would look for any excuse to get out of the class. This could be anything from a ‘twisted ankle’ to ‘female problems’ or forgetting uniform…and I always found out before a cross country run took place and wiggled out of it.

As a result, every sports day I would always be forced to sit on the field for a dull afternoon dreaming of being elsewhere. This all culminated in my final year, where I discovered a full page colour photo of myself asleep on the sports field in the school year book…and I never lived it down.

My question to you is…what have been your best and worst excuses over the years…and any consequences from trying to wiggle out of the inevitable?


War Hero
Book Reviewer
I once felt like shite one day (pissed again) so went and sat on the sofa located in the Squadron corridor, which was close to the OC's office. When asked what the fuck i was doing, i answered "Standing by". I was left alone.

The downside to this was while i was blatantly skiving, my oppos were hammering a crate of Warsteiner up at the garages. Ying and yang.


Lantern Swinger
Missing out on Warsteiner? Damn, that must have been tough, that stuff is amazing.

My best/worst excuse in school were for uniform. I told them I was living with my Gran and she couldn't afford to replace stuff such as a tie, so I never had to wear one, I took off the top button of my shirt so that I never had to fasten it and I wore trainers instead of shoes because of the first excuse, my Gran couldn't afford to buy shoes.

Got away with it until final year when my Mother showed wanting to know why she never received any letters or anything.


Lantern Swinger
In school I was the same as Op i.e. a PE dodger. I would take a detention over having to play football/go outside any day. and the consequence of being a fat, lazy fuck for the first 17 years of my life meant I had to make up for my lack of cardio over the last couple of years. If I had the same enthusiasm for fitness I have now, (especially over the last year) when I was in year 7/8 I would have: A) Been a total jock and fucked more bitched. B) became an olympian/3rd Brownlee brother by now.
I grew up in the 1950's and 60's. No electronoc gizmo's. All of us went playing football, climbing trees, etc.Left school before 15yrs old and eventually joined up at 19yrs old. Still fit as a butchers dog and sailed throughtraining as did about 70% of us. Do you think today's youth are not as fit as we once were ?


War Hero
Book Reviewer
As a child I was quite skinny. This makes it difficult when playing rugby or contact sports in school, so I always made excuses to not partake. This involved forgeries, tales of woe and other such bullshit.

But the one day I was FORCED to play ended up in complete disaster as, no sooner had I managed to get the ball and run, I was crunched to the ground by some big guy and I lay in a stunned and painful heap. But despite the pain in my back and bruised pride, I felt blood flowing down my leg. Closer inspection revealed that I had been studded; it had torn the flesh and I was sent off the pitch and back to the shower room - result!

All was good until I got home and then proceeded to fall sickeningly ill, completely nauseated, shivering, fluctuating temperature and feeling like death. I was rushed to the Doctor and it appeared that some dog shit must have been on the bottom of the studs which had cut my leg and had infected me. I was then given several injections and had to spend four days in bed.

I have never played rugby since.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
When I was in primary school I went through a brief period of kleptomania - egged on by my gleeful bastard of an older cousin (as if that excuses me somehow). One day a week at my school, we were encouraged to bring in a toy to play with - most of the boys chose Star Wars figures, Corgi cars or Action Men. It was a day filled with joy, but also avarice: all these beautiful toys. All these beautiful toys I didn't own!

So one of these days, with my devious ulterior motive, I made my excuse to go to the toilet and was permitted to leae the classroom. A few seconds later I 'happened' to find myself in the cloakroom alone, with larcenous thoughts on my mind. With a criminal cunning that I seem to have entirely lost in the intervening years, I rifled through all the coats until I found something worth stealing - red Tonka flatbed truck. It was amazing - I can still picture it today in all its shiny die-cast glory. I quietly hid it away and at the end of the day managed to smuggle it all the way home without incident.

Victory! I'd learned a fantastic lesson - stealing is easy! I was free to play with my spoils as much as I liked. And I did. The truck was the perfect size and weight to be launched along the landing and bounce solidly down the stairs just like I'd seen cars falling over cliffs do on TV so many times. It was a shame I couldn't make it explode into flames at the bottom, but on the plus side the truck survived the stunt so I could repeat it as many times as I liked. Which, it turned out, was an awful lot of times.

But there was a snag. It'd never occurred to me that my mum might have a pretty good idea of what toys I owned. So when investigating the sound of me repeatedly knocking chunks of plaster off the landing wall, she asked, "Where did you get that truck?" I panicked.

Time froze; I simply wasn't prepared for the question. I had nothing - I couldn't admit to the truth, but I had no believable cover story to hand. I could say I borrowed it from a friend, but that would surely only lead to more questions, and I hadn't prepared the sufficient web of carefully considered lies to deal with that sort of cross-examination. All seemed lost.

But then I had a flash of true genius. There was a single moment, a mere few weeks before, when in all the confusion a new toy could feasibly have passed unnoticed. I thought back to the day; there were loads of new toys, and she definitely wasn't paying full attention at the time. If the red truck had appeared at that moment, it would be entirely possible that she might not have noticed. This was my way out! A bullet-proof, entirely unverifiable back-story for my new illicit toy. I'd won! I'd outsmarted everyone! Smiling smugly, I picked up the truck and informed her:

"Father Christmas brought it for me."

My victim, and his furious mother, stood in stony silence as I recited my shame-faced apology the next day... :oops:
I recall an occassion when I was standing at the Captains table, hatless, when he quizzed me about an event that occurred the previous week when, through no fault of my own, i was somewhat 'late' returning to the ship.
I had been on weekend leave, and on travelling back from oop north I had to change trains. I transitted London from Kings Cross to Waterloo at something like 0300 on Monday, to catch the early train to Portsmouth. There were many other sailors at the station at that time (I could tell they were sailors because they all wore the same uniform as me) and they all wanted to get to Portsmouth at the same time. When the train for Portsmouth arrived there was a stampede of sailors all wanting to board the train. I could see that the carriages were getting quite full as I ran along the platform, and it was nearly time for the train to set off but sailors were still scrambling around the carriage entrances trying to board. It was at that moment I heard 'a voice'.... it said......'get thee behind me, Satan'....so I did.... and the train pulled away and thats how I missed my train, sir.
He didn't believe me and I got 7 days stoppage. :evil3:


Book Reviewer
As a child in the 1930's Dad took me swimming in Ilkeston Baths. Put me on his back and swam around. IT WAS GREAT FUN UNTIL HE WENT UNDER. That incident put the fear of god into me about swimming. At school we went once a week to those same baths for swimming lessons. I somehow managed to give the instructor the slip and at the end of the lesson wrung my damp trunks and joined the rest. Consequence...years later on joining the RN, I had one hell of a job learing to swim. Cursed my Dad for a long time.

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