Club
Junior Lunch:
Wednesdays
Senior Lunch:
First
Thursdays Week A
Fridays Week B
Meetings in A1 In
No, the bones are elsewhere. a real clubquote
In the aphorism game, club members are given the first half of an aphorism (a common saying), and they suggest new ways of completing the saying. In this way, we hope to eventually be of service to the English language.
presents a convenient stress ball [munching noises] gives you lemonade is how I lost my medical license given infinite time, would chirp the works of Shakespeare a tortoise on the head THERE’S A BIRD IN MY HAND is why I don’t go to Denny’s anymore
What doesn't kill you...
will return for you eventually is keeping you alive, probably for nefarious reasons should try another approach
Give a man a fish...
please, it’s been three days and if he invests it right, it will be 2.7 fish. I said “fish, ” David. and now that I have you here, I’d like to ask you about your car’s extended warranty. and he shall feed the bird in his hand. and give the government 0.4 fish.
These eco-protests are getting out of hand.
Watch out, he can slide under doors.
If I had a nickel...
They call him Gelatinous George.
You can’t hear him under the mucous membrane, but he’s in a lot of pain.
The IRS got him again.
Not rain nor sleet, nor snow nor hail could stop the US Postal Service.
Well, I think it’s pretty funny.
Any shred of feeling, whether it be agony or bliss, would be nothing short of heaven.
Alakazam! Your divorce is now finalised.
I think the first sign is that you’ve chosen to sit in separate chairs. Dumbledore asked calmly.
In fairness, I just pretend to work here.
Short of hopes and prayers, this was the next best thing. I ‘ ave a leetle rat controlling me. Excuse me, let me just change.
And now for your *magical* test results... oh, god. Oh, I’m so sorry.
Despite coming to Jupiter, your son’s performance indicates that he has in fact not become stupider... Jeff? You won’t be seeing him again.
And lo, thy blood tests have returned! They are worrying.
The club suggested worst (or best?) first words for a baby to speak:
We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.
Where’s Grandma?
Looks like the plan didn’t work.
You don’t look good in yellow.
Don’t ask me where my brother is.
I’ve lost my scissors.
Why am I the only one keeping this marriage together?
How did I end up in America?
[Insert expletives]
I miss Transylvania
* Speaks in fluent Ancient Greek *
Who are these people?
Glub Glub
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Some club members took on the challenge of describing a setting (only a setting) and implying a story through this description.
1.
There is a high tower above a city and its window is open. The wind billows in from outside and scatters the room within into a mess. The bed is unmade, its duvet carelessly thrown back. The carpet on the floor is muddied with the remains of trampled leaves. The thick, wooden door is reinforced, and locked from the outside. The winding staircase below is empty, devoid of breaths, as it has been for some time now.
The picture frame by the bed is cracked. The floorboards no longer creak. The window is opened outwards, its stained glass embracing the cold air so high in the sky. There are shelves of knick-knacks, all shattered into pieces - except for one wooden sculpture of an eagle that sits proudly in the centre of the carnage.
There are rafters above the room. The wooden beams are old and blackened, although scratched with gouge marks. It smells musty, like it hasn’t been cleaned in ages, although upon the rafters - if you look carefully - are a few, white downy feathers. A layer of dust covers everything else.
The door is locked fast and the key is rusted but it doesn’t matter. The window is wide open and the air blows in all the time, stirring the mess of the room continuously. There are no clouds in the sky and the air is empty, although down at the foot of the tower, where the wrought iron gates fall apart, a few more white feathers dust the cobbles.
The tower is long discarded and no one comes anymore. But no one needs to.
2.
A dark castle loomed over the shadowy forest that filled the valley below. The ashen branches creaked in the warm wind that wafted down from the blazing ramparts atop the tower - the aftermath of some adventuring party, most like. That citadel of doom, that bastion of evil (for it was probably called something of the sort) was shrouded in a
darkness broken only by the raging fires of a powerful mage. The main gates were shattered, broken hinges swinging loosely, while blood slowly trickled down from the two intact tables left after some furious battle - impaled goblins, beheaded demons, and a rather unlucky firstlevel adventurer called James who had been ripped into two by the Smouldering Rug of Smothering (only recently disenchanted). This story of destruction could be seen all throughout the castle. The very foundations still trembled with the reverberations of some wizards’ duel and the candelabras dripped molten brass onto the cracked stone steps that led to the summit. Here only a blackened crater remained of the mighty combatants who had decimated the garrison’s leader: the sorcerer named Jebediah the Messiah, who had, until recently, been suffering a wild magic surge.
3.
The divine mechanical creature obscures the light of suns and stars and replaces them with artificial beams of gold and scarlet. A symbol of the rebirth of Man, taking to the skies and beyond in pursuit of fertile new ground.
The ruins it leaves below tremble, a biological wasteland tainted by man-made disasters. There is no cheer from below, for there are no more that remain below, but the Phoenix’s inhabitants roar as the beast gains height. The glass-paneled wings spread wide as 10,000 eagle wingspans, cutting through acidic clouds - the patches of ozone - the edges of the atmosphere - space of infinite potential -
But the Phoenix carries the rot of Man with it, despite how much they have tried to leave it behind; an invisible decay, hidden in the darkest corners of wires and computing and arrogant math.
So the creature begins to molt its feathers, flame bursting from the fissures. The artificial light is overrun by fiery gas, spreading to the tail, the torso, the head.
Man’s last folly truly does mirror its mythological inspiration after all as it is reborn in ashes, crashing into the dust and dirt it was moulded from.
But nothing emerges from the ashes. The Phoenix burns for eternity, lifeless.
Want to get in on the fun, but too busy and/or anti-social and/or frightened of us to come to club meetings?
You can still share your work with us!
Even better, we’ll consider it for publication in our annual magazine, the Wordsmiths’ Gazette.
To submit, you MUST:
Be a Reading School student
Have your work neatly formatted in a Word document
Submit it to this Microsoft Form, where our Overlords teachers (Ms. Ellis and Ms. Eggers) and our student club leaders will review submissions: https://forms.office.com/e/pCHUX6WNVS
You CAN:
Submit work in any format (poem, novel excerpt, script, recipe...) and any genre, as long as it’s appropriate for school.
Request that your work be treated anonymously - the form will show your name (so don’t upload anything as a prank), but the club leaders can make sure your name is not read out to the club or published with the piece.
Lastly... our current challenge to inspire submissions: