Comical Nostalgia

Did you like my last little story from a strange moment in my life? Here's another.

I was in high school and must have been in year 7, or 8, which is to say 5th or 6th grade in Middle School if you're American, or plain old 11-12 years old. I was in History class and we were studying the Great Fire of London. Around this general time in my life my friend kept bringing up '666' and wouldn't tell me what it meant. He gave me a phone number that ended in 666 and I texted it one day, and got a response along the lines of "mediums don't only speak to ghosts" in return. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I asked my Gran and she told me it meant the devil, so I was like "ooooh, that makes sense then." She asked me why I was asking so I told her about the phone number. She got all agitated and even though she's closer to unreligious than religious, she's still pretty superstitious so told me not to fuck with it. In the future I would go on to t-bag a Ouija Board as it spelt out "on the head of your children be it", whatever that means. But that's another story.

Anyway, the Great Fire of London. Oh what a great fire it was. That's something that totally wouldn't happen now, isn't it? Not due to some dipshit baker leaving his oven on overnight anyway. It's like that Irish potato famine. That's some fucking olden times problem. How the fuck did a drunken hobo smoking his opium not set it all ablaze sooner? Shit, how didn't it happen every day if this city is just one giant fire hazard? We'll never know, I guess.

This is the comical nostalgic moment we've been working towards, so brace yourself. It may come as no surprise to the Mark Corrigans among you that the Great Fire of London occurred in 1666 (for the non-Peep Show watchers among you, you're fucked on figuring out that allusion). But what was this? 666?! Fire?! THIS MUST BE THE WORK OF THE DEVIL. I enthusiastically stretched my arm up to attract the attention of the teacher. She scuttled over and asked what the matter was. She leaned over my desk while my heart palpitated for what I had just realised. It wasn't the baker at all; it was the fucking devil. I had cracked it! Then I, in all fucking seriousness, in my most authentic sincere tone inquired "could this be the work of the devil?" and pointed to the pertinent information. She sighed and stood back. "No", she said disappointedly, and walked back to her desk. Disillusioned, I closed the text book and tried to forget all about it.

I was convinced it was the work of the devil; this was hard evidence! I wasn't even taking the piss like many a student are wont to do.

I believed it.