[Misc] A level Geography.

drew said:

I wonder if those on NSC that reside in Burgess Hill would be kind enough to complete the attached short survey on behalf of my daughter's geography A level.

Thanks.

https://forms.gle/w4qK9K3Mipzi5ADG6

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Ooh it’s a corner said:

Not a resident so can’t complete but takes me back to my A level geography. We had a new teacher who changed exam board(Ox to Camb) which required us to do something similar - mine was on perception of distance from Hurstpierpoint to other places in Sussex - way before internet of course - your daughter’s looks great - hope it goes well - good luck to her

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drew said:

I wonder if those on NSC that reside in Burgess Hill would be kind enough to complete the attached short survey on behalf of my daughter's geography A level.

Thanks.

https://forms.gle/w4qK9K3Mipzi5ADG6

Click to expand...

Kneon Light said:

Not a BH resident so cannot complete.
I am a Geography teacher though and the survey looks good.
If she needs advise at any point feel free to PM me.

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drew said:

I wonder if those on NSC that reside in Burgess Hill would be kind enough to complete the attached short survey on behalf of my daughter's geography A level.

Thanks.

https://forms.gle/w4qK9K3Mipzi5ADG6

Click to expand...

dazzer6666 said:

Done…pretty sure junior did something similar for his Geography A level too……..

In terms of improving BH town centre, is ‘raze it to the ground and start again’ the right answer ?

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Poojah said:

I can’t do this as I don’t live in Burgess Hill and have never been to the place in my life, but crikey, you’ve brought back some twenty year old flash backs with a vengeance there.

I took, and failed, A-level Geography because I’d got an A at GCSE due to the fact that the questions were all mostly multiple choice questions about as difficult as the early rounds of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. You didn’t really need to pay that much attention; a modicum of common sense was enough to get by on. I quickly learned that A-level geography was going to be a different story, and by the time our first field trip of the year arrived I had already become rather bored of it.

It was a couple of weeks after 9/11 if I remember correctly, and the idea was that we would be learning about coastal geology on the nothern east coast. The first day entailed a trip to Scarborough, where we were expected to walk around the town centre, close to the sea, with a clipboard asking questions much like the ones linked in the OP. We needed 100 responses. Fúck that, that would take hours and it would be both boring and embarrassing, so me and my mate Matt (who were the only boys of the 8 or 9 kids on the trip) spent about half an hour walking the local streets and noting down the names of them, then found a pub with a pool table.

We’d play a couple of games of pool, sink a pint and then fill in a few fake responses using made up names but with real street names (as I knew that would be getting spot checked when we handed them in). It was a pleasant afternoon - we had a few games of pool, maybe five or six pints with a chip buttie from the chippie across the road in between. Then we stumbled back to the meeting point, blatantly half cut but having apparently done what had been asked of us, half heartedly concealing a plastic bag containing a four pack of cans for the journey back in the minibus to Whitby and the youth hostel we’d be staying in.

Whitby, if you don’t know it, is a tiny but charming Gothic seaside town on the east coast, about half way between Middlesbrough and Scarborough. We rocked up at the hostel which was sat next to the Abbey overlooking the town, badly skinned up a couple of joints and headed down the 199 steps from the Abbey down into the town and dived straight into the first public overlooking the river. We had two or three pints each but I decided in my wisdom, to have a whiskey chaser with each of mine.

The I had a great idea - let’s go for a curry! I’d literally had my first ever curry house curry a few weeks earlier; after I’d started playing for a men’s Sunday league team and been for a night out with them. I thought it would be a good thing to educate my mate. I say that, but I realised when I found a place that I still didn’t really understand the menu. I’m trying to put on a show of teenage bravado and though I recognise the name ‘Vindaloo’, the four chilli symbols put me off.

I decide to go one down, and the Lamb Madras it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, I could wolf a Madras these days without much problem, but this was the second proper curry of my life and neither my mouth or stomach enjoyed it. We’ll get to my arse in a moment - stay with me.

We had a couple of pints with the meal, a complimentary schnapps for no apparent reason, nipped into the adjacent off license for a few more tinnies then made our way off back towards the hostel, up the now apparently 398 steps, and onto some benches overlooking the town to indulge in a spliff or two.

I have to own up to this. I was never a massive fan of weed - haven’t touched it in well over a decade. It was something I went along with to fit in with my mates growing up. I’d enjoy it in small doses, but at this point I’d not yet learned that it didn’t agree with me when I’d been drinking.

I was about to though. I’m sat there, supping a can of San Miguel, smoking this joint for no real reason other than to appear cool, when the world starts spinning. My mates used to have a term for when someone was having a bad turn on weed, “throwing a whitey”, or having a visit from “the whitey man”, on account of turning pale and feeling a sense of doom and panic. At this point, the whitey man has entered my very soul.

My mate Matt, to his credit, senses I’m not in a great state and helps me back to our room at the hostel, where I’m staying on the top bunk. I’m up there, but the room is only spinning faster. At this point I’m sweating my bollocks off and have been reduced to no more than my boxer shorts. I realise I’m going to chunder, rush down the bunk bed steps but before I can get out of the door to the communal bogs, I spew violently all over the carpet. Not only that, but the violence with which my stomach forces the contents of my stomach upwards, simultaneously forces my intestines to void themselves in a southerly direction and I quite literally shit my pants all over the carpet, nestling neatly alongside my sick.

Naturally, a pounding on the door follows, and it’s my teacher having heard various solids being expelled from my body in grotesque fashion. So I’m stood there, almost naked covered in my own vomit and faeces, and the only thing I could say was:

“I think Matt’s shit himself…”

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Poojah said:

I’ve just read my own back and, fúck me, that was long. Apologies!

Click to expand...

Poojah said:

I can’t do this as I don’t live in Burgess Hill and have never been to the place in my life, but crikey, you’ve brought back some twenty year old flash backs with a vengeance there.

I took, and failed, A-level Geography because I’d got an A at GCSE due to the fact that the questions were all mostly multiple choice questions about as difficult as the early rounds of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. You didn’t really need to pay that much attention; a modicum of common sense was enough to get by on. I quickly learned that A-level geography was going to be a different story, and by the time our first field trip of the year arrived I had already become rather bored of it.

It was a couple of weeks after 9/11 if I remember correctly, and the idea was that we would be learning about coastal geology on the nothern east coast. The first day entailed a trip to Scarborough, where we were expected to walk around the town centre, close to the sea, with a clipboard asking questions much like the ones linked in the OP. We needed 100 responses. Fúck that, that would take hours and it would be both boring and embarrassing, so me and my mate Matt (who were the only boys of the 8 or 9 kids on the trip) spent about half an hour walking the local streets and noting down the names of them, then found a pub with a pool table.

We’d play a couple of games of pool, sink a pint and then fill in a few fake responses using made up names but with real street names (as I knew that would be getting spot checked when we handed them in). It was a pleasant afternoon - we had a few games of pool, maybe five or six pints with a chip buttie from the chippie across the road in between. Then we stumbled back to the meeting point, blatantly half cut but having apparently done what had been asked of us, half heartedly concealing a plastic bag containing a four pack of cans for the journey back in the minibus to Whitby and the youth hostel we’d be staying in.

Whitby, if you don’t know it, is a tiny but charming Gothic seaside town on the east coast, about half way between Middlesbrough and Scarborough. We rocked up at the hostel which was sat next to the Abbey overlooking the town, badly skinned up a couple of joints and headed down the 199 steps from the Abbey down into the town and dived straight into the first public overlooking the river. We had two or three pints each but I decided in my wisdom, to have a whiskey chaser with each of mine.

The I had a great idea - let’s go for a curry! I’d literally had my first ever curry house curry a few weeks earlier; after I’d started playing for a men’s Sunday league team and been for a night out with them. I thought it would be a good thing to educate my mate. I say that, but I realised when I found a place that I still didn’t really understand the menu. I’m trying to put on a show of teenage bravado and though I recognise the name ‘Vindaloo’, the four chilli symbols put me off.

I decide to go one down, and the Lamb Madras it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, I could wolf a Madras these days without much problem, but this was the second proper curry of my life and neither my mouth or stomach enjoyed it. We’ll get to my arse in a moment - stay with me.

We had a couple of pints with the meal, a complimentary schnapps for no apparent reason, nipped into the adjacent off license for a few more tinnies then made our way off back towards the hostel, up the now apparently 398 steps, and onto some benches overlooking the town to indulge in a spliff or two.

I have to own up to this. I was never a massive fan of weed - haven’t touched it in well over a decade. It was something I went along with to fit in with my mates growing up. I’d enjoy it in small doses, but at this point I’d not yet learned that it didn’t agree with me when I’d been drinking.

I was about to though. I’m sat there, supping a can of San Miguel, smoking this joint for no real reason other than to appear cool, when the world starts spinning. My mates used to have a term for when someone was having a bad turn on weed, “throwing a whitey”, or having a visit from “the whitey man”, on account of turning pale and feeling a sense of doom and panic. At this point, the whitey man has entered my very soul.

My mate Matt, to his credit, senses I’m not in a great state and helps me back to our room at the hostel, where I’m staying on the top bunk. I’m up there, but the room is only spinning faster. At this point I’m sweating my bollocks off and have been reduced to no more than my boxer shorts. I realise I’m going to chunder, rush down the bunk bed steps but before I can get out of the door to the communal bogs, I spew violently all over the carpet. Not only that, but the violence with which my stomach forces the contents of my stomach upwards, simultaneously forces my intestines to void themselves in a southerly direction and I quite literally shit my pants all over the carpet, nestling neatly alongside my sick.

Naturally, a pounding on the door follows, and it’s my teacher having heard various solids being expelled from my body in grotesque fashion. So I’m stood there, almost naked covered in my own vomit and faeces, and the only thing I could say was:

“I think Matt’s shit himself…”

Click to expand...

drew said:

I wonder if those on NSC that reside in Burgess Hill would be kind enough to complete the attached short survey on behalf of my daughter's geography A level.

Thanks.

https://forms.gle/w4qK9K3Mipzi5ADG6

Click to expand...

dejavuatbtn said:

Don’t live there but my old Geography master, Barney Balsdon, did and used to be on its council. The man was a legend.

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