I’m currently clearing out all the papers and work books that I hadn’t had the heart to throw out since I started attending school. In front of me is evidence of about 17 years of schooling and it pains me to throw out work books from so many years ago (I’m very attached to my intellectual property).

Anyway, I stumbled across my year 6 (I was about 10 at the time) work book and I found a short story in it titled, “The Antique Shop”. Here’s how it goes (bad grammar and spelling retained):

While I was visiting an Indian Market, I wandered into an Indian Antique shop. To my surprise the owner of the shop knew how to speak English. “Hello”, he said with a deep accent, “Can I help you?” “No, I’m just looking.” I replied. The items in the shop is very queer. There was a bull’s head, some black and strangely shaped balloons and a silver crown which I wanted to buy. The man came out and with a pen. “20 pounds.” He said. “20 pounds! That’s way to much for a pen!” I exclaimed. “This pen comes froms Greece. It is very valuable.” He said. “What about 10 pounds?” I argued. “Sold” He said. I went back to England very proud of my pen. I was about to write a letter to my aunt in Australia. Thats when I realized that there is no ink and no place to put ink. I have been ripped-off!

Worst story ever.