The Challenge

 Today, in a small lecture hall situated within Kingston university, myself and several other youths graduated from "The Challenge". I feel that it aptly summarizes "The Challenge" that during a period in which we were confined within a room and encouraged to mingle, the background music provided had been found (as it became painfully obvious when we looked at the screen of the computer attached to the speakers) by going onto the music streaming site Spotify and typing "gangster" into the search bar (I promptly went on to find and play "Gangam style" to the general gratitude of the juvenile community within the room, proving that despite my lack of knowledge concerning pop culture and trends, I am still more "down with the kids" than the people at "The Challenge" being paid to be exactly that).
 The Challenge is a patronizing program for the youth, based on the assumption that young people will, if not kept off the streets by camping trips and community service, inevitably go feral and commit racially motivated murders or something. The obvious flaw, which still appears to not have been noted by anyone running the program, being that no one likely to be committing such offenses would ever be caught dead taking part in something like The Challenge (they would, presumably, instead be caught literally dead in a crossfire between two street gangs or some other equally horrible incident of self implementing social Darwinism).
 The entire program, like any well thought out devastating master plan, consists of several phases. The first phase is a week spent in the remote countryside participating in team building activities (such as walking, rock climbing, walking, camping, complaining about all the walking, raft building and walking) whilst living in a repulsive youth hostel that would be awarded black holes if any lodging rating organization were to visit. The second phase consists of a week spent inhabiting a block in the Kingston University campus, which felt like a palace compared to the youth hostel (though a palace infested with scuttling insects that I could have sworn had gone extinct several thousand years ago), while the youths study a particular art (be it media, drama or photography). The third week is devoted to planning several community serving projects (like fund raising or litter picking or euthanasia)and the fourth phase, a few weeks later, allows the juveniles to implement these projects. Then finally, after all this, comes the graduation.
 As the team organizer(the figure of central authority who, annoyingly, had a lazy eye so no one could be quite sure who she was angrily shouting at) stood up to give a final speech, I recalled all the character building activities we had taken part in during the course of The Challenge. Like the time when myself and Sergeant Salt (the very picture perfect image of a white middle class boy, nonetheless proud of his self-proclaimed working class up bringing. Complete with the political views of an ultra conservative, the accent of a private school student, the education of a state school and the vocabulary of an American gang member, he still somehow possesses a certain inane charm.) had a deep meaningful conversation whilst camping, discussing such topics as the meaning of life, humiliating anecdotes and who in our group were attractive. Blissfully unaware, until the next day, that the walls of our tent were very thin, the camp site quiet and our voices loud.
 As I vacantly listened, the team organizer stood at the podium began to recount of how the team had been entertaining as well as occasionally problematic, or rather in terms of the latter, not the entire team but more specifically, myself and Sergeant Salt. Even going on to reflect about the time when we deconstructed our team mentor's bed and the occasion when we created a wall of toilet paper with which to block the door of another group during the night.
 One such event that stood out in my memory was a particular evening when two male French students wondered into the campus area occupied by The Challenge proceeding to, in a hormone and probably drink fueled course of action, attempt to hit on the teenage girls from The Challenge residing in the building. The natural reaction of myself, Sergeant Salt and one Cedric (An aggressive widely built and crude American, that is to say, a stereotypical American) had been to shout abuse, utilizing every piece of French we had ever managed to scrape off our linguistic educations, at the two students. Shouting, then, because we were situated on the ground floor and facing the courtyard, swiftly closing the defensive window for fear of a French invasion into our kitchen. When this failed to drive the intruders off, I took several small tomatoes from the fridge as ammunition and threw them as hard as I could, pathetically displaying in the process why I had never got anywhere in cricket. This then escalated into a vegetable war, with an arms race that meant the projectiles became ever more damaging, transforming from small tomato to large tomato to carrot to potato. By morning the courtyard had looked like a post apocalyptic farm, a state of affairs for which I and my comrades were punished.
 After a few dull minutes, the team organizer stepped down from the stage and another member of the Challenge staff began to hand out certificates and take photographs of the proud youths. Youths who had contributed to the community through their own personally designed projects. Our group had decided to do a film festival for the community in order to bring the people together. Though we managed to purchase eight short films to be watched and a site at which to show them, a sports hall belonging to Ricard's Lodge school,  none of us had thought to advertise it thereby meaning that no one turned up. Since none of us had any particular interest in cinematography, we watched three of the eight short films, for which we had collectively had the council pay eighty pounds, and spent the rest of the time stealing food from surrounding groups and abusing each other with the school's carefully maintained sports equipment.
 Finally it was my turn and as I held the certificate, frowning at the camera whilst I did, a thought hit me, a thought suggesting that though I may have done a lot during The Challenge such as: drinking tea containing tomato puree, rebelliously kicking over a bowl of flower, accidentally summoning the fire service numerous times, jumping through a window, microwaving an egg and so forth, nothing I had done had even remotely been helpful to the community. And this thought pleased , and still pleases, me to no end.

The Case of the Missing Missing Laptop

 It has been a few days since I finally managed to set up a Detective Agency Club within the school and though I am yet to create promotional posters, I'm sure the days of sleuth success are on the horizon. With such hopeful sunny thoughts floating happily within my cranium, I trudged in from the contrastingly wet weather outside. Swinging, thrusting, throwing and catching my still dripping umbrella, the very picture of a slightly damp ninja in training, I pondered on the elegant power of the umbrella (A shield to protect one from the rain as well as a potential weapon with which to enter combat, therefore a near invincible multipurpose object capable of both defense and offense) and what it would be like to properly hit someone with it, dexterously wielding the umbrella as a substitute long sword.

 As I was fantasizing about gladiatorial matches to the death fought entirely with umbrellas, Underling Butler (a bitter, snide and posh creature with a constant under tone of mild malice, topped off with more than a touch of private school arrogance. Capable of verbose rants and ravings, quite rich with a very well stocked and local house a minutes walk from the school gates, an optimum location to raid for supplies) trotted my way.

 "Hey," he shouted clearly in a voice that I felt should be deported back to Downton Abbey, "I have an actual detective case for you!" The last time anyone had said anything like this to me, it had been Hunter Swift, reporting to me one illegal placement of an apple core within her locker, hence I inquired what the matter was without much enthusiasm.

 A rather surprising reply came my way, "My laptop," declared Underling Butler, "It's been stolen" I paused for a moment, wondering whether I had fantasized those words. An actual proper valuable theft! To an underling of mine no less! What better opportunity to show my not inconsiderable skills as a detective!
 After several minutes celebrating the fact Underling Butler's laptop had been stolen. I immediately took up my role as investigation leader, announcing we should start a series of inquiries and take witness statements. Underling Butler, however, suggested we consider our plan thoroughly first.

 Since we were, as of yet, short of a detective office and therefore a place in which we might thoroughly discuss a plan. It was decided on going to Underling Butler's house, a minutes walk away. We made our way down the short stretch of road by a slightly unkempt common, turned quagmire by the downpour. Underling Butler at a brisk walking pace, while I skipped cheerfully along. A few seconds down the scenic, some would say picturesque or quaint, route then a swift turn left and we were before Underling Butler's house.

 We rang on the doorbell, the sound of which echoed within the expensive structure of his domain, to shortly be let in by a maid. "Right, well," began Underling Butler walking towards the kitchen, a holy inner sanctuary of foodstuffs and oasis of various edible treats, "I..." here he paused. A silence filled the corridor, a silence only punctuated by the miserable, slightly pathetic shuffling of his recently castrated dog Nero, a name which somehow seemed a little too ballsy for the whining canine.

 I coughed then asked why the pointlessly long pause, after I had judged the pause to be sufficiently long enough to be classified as pointlessly long. Underling Butler continued to stare at the table ahead of him and the object atop it for a few more seconds, then slowly turning around, he announced in a slightly sing song voice, "I appear to have left my laptop at home... sorry"

 On the positive side, I now know what it feels like to properly hit someone with an umbrella.