The year is 2000 or some shit. The venue is the R.D.S. ,  my sister has just turned up to help me ‘decorate’ my stand. It’s like a Mary Fitzgerald wet dream. There’s copydex and pritstick everywhere. Large A0 sheets of purple card and she’s frantically cutting out speech bubbles to glue on to the card for fuck knows what reason, i haven’t asked her to, but she’s enjoying herself and I haven’t hit scorp factor 5 yet so i let it go under the radar.

There’s every variety of different colour uniforms with varying accents wandering around eyeing up the competition and just stepping over me and my oversized maroon jumper. But that doesn’t explain why i’m knee deep in sticky gold stars and sweating.

So it’s 5th year, and i’ve just installed a 28kbps modem on the only PC running windows 98 and the computer(s) teacher has just suggested putting together a project involving the future of computing in the education system, distance learning and such. it sounds cool, he’s excited, it’s a week off school and i’m quids in. PC’s were my thing. I was good at basketball. Good at girls. But computers were really my thing. Still are.

What i wasn’t banking on was:

A) Said teacher taking a hiss attack and basically retiring with out a hint of advice or direction.

B) Them actually accepting my project.

C) Letting me know that they had accepted my Project via the school principle so close to Christmas, given that the exhibition is early January.

D) There is no ‘D’ but i feel the story can’t go on without one.

So i have to rapidly pull out a project from my hat about something i don’t know anyting about. What i did know to use was Dreamweaver and i had energy. All i needed was a plan. And a crew. The plan was to compile a project on how the internet and using the web can assist a small to medium sized business. I know what you’re thinking but just remember, it’s 1999, people thought the world was going to end at new years and the web wasn’t the sprawling land of self proclaimed social media stars, hell digital cameras were a no go yet and my mobile phone could only store 12 text messages.

So i lash together a website. A few words. I can blag the rest. Jobs Oxo.

Game day.

1st Fail

Apparantly your project has to be what you said it would be at the initial application. pfft!  This can cause confusion with the judges otherwise.

2nd Fail

Forgot to apply for an active internet connection. Kind of important when your project is based solely around a website. This was the main fail of biblical proportion. If it wasn’t for a guy burning my site to cd i would’ve completely been caught with the pants down.

3rd Fail

There’s far too much skirt here. I’ve blutacked a picture of my current squeeze Bevin to my stand and it’s the only thing that is attracting people to my stand. There’s a hottie called Fiona from Loreto Foxrock beside me. We have a connection. She has a boyfriend. You can smell the up-in-da-big-schmoke hormones a mile off as hoards of pleated skirts circle around the main hall pointing and im nearly sure i hear the word ’shift’ being uttered.

4th Fail

The guy on the other side of me looks like he has potential. His mother is straightening his blazer and his father is having a shit fit trying to replace the bulb in a lamp that is towering above this impressive map of ireland with these cocktail sticks sticking out of it. He has a couple of ugly groupies from Waterford or someplace, but they’re ugly and no match for my Fiona from Loreto Foxrock.

Those of you who know the programme for the young scientist exhibition know there’s the judging element where a few people dressed in tweed will visit you and give you random and varying amounts of encouragement but still give you the impression that your project is pure shite. I had noticed throughout the couple of days that the judges were coming back in ones and two’s and three’s to blazer boy next door. I’m not one to hold a grudge. I’m also not one to partially sabotage his project on the 2nd night when people had gone home. Not I.

Then there’s the days when the public are allowed in. Firstly i can’t believe they have to pay in. I’m blasting out mp3’s and chilling on a stool i’ve robbed from 2 ‘howayiz’ from who have some project involving social welfare or bank robberies and how it links to Gross National Product or some shit. One of the tweed aul lads has just trundled over on a crutch from blazer boys stand and turned off my speakers without a word but i’m more concerned about the sudden interest in Fionas stand from what appear to be the usual rugby brigade and i’m thinking whatever chance i had is now out the window.

One of the judges a woman with lovely blonde hair and a real ‘mammy’ vibe about her has actually gone out of her way to say my project is ‘really really great’ even though i can smell the fact that we both know i shouldn’t be here but it’s good to see that i’m having a great time. She wants to take one of my CD’s with my website home to get a ‘proper look’ i make some witty comment about if its broken its sold. She duely has someone else return the CD the next day first thing.

It’s day four and the blazer has a voice all of a sudden and wants to be friends. Lucky for him i have a death stare that would make roadkill run away so he never gets to find out why the chopstick sticking out of Galway isn’t the same height as it was before and why another light bulb has gone out on him. Shame his project wasn’t about social networking. Ponce.

The battle of Loreto’s has truely started. Fiona’s boyfriend, Graham, is in for the day, the dick. And she’s obviously told him all about me and her advances are now as rare as the amount of times the other fucker has taken off his blazer. Bevin’s photo has been reduced to the back of the stand. It was a rookie error to start with. There’s a very flirtatious bunch from Loreto Balbriggan who are being generous sharing their munchies and giggles and i’m nearly sure Aoibheann is really into the internet and Small to Medium Sized Businesses. Or Me. They are all staying in the hotel beside the R.D.S. Score.  Of course Bevin, who incidently goes to Loreto on The Green, turns up and nearly makes me drop the game ball. We wander the hall looking at the various bits of science if you will enjoying the day. Joy.

Then follows the run up to the prize giving. Blazer boy has it. It’s obvious from the smug fuckin look on his canvas and his parents are all making phone calls and the smell of tweed is getting beyond febreeze treatment. There’s a note on my computer monitor that a judge had visited while i was wandering. Fuck them. Aoibheann is about a bit more frequently. Bevin has trotted off home to get changed for some disco that’s on in the R.D.S. to finish off the whole week. Martin King, weather man extrodinaire is spinning the steel. I’ve an open invite back to the hotel beside the R.D.S.

The Blazer is hugging the silverware and having his photo taken beside his bed-of-nails map of Ireland and there’s slaps on backs and you can smell whiskey off the old pair as they practically sign this kids life away. Martin King isn’t even entering this guys head. Why is Bevin coming back?

Fiona’s parents are nice. They talk about Graham too much, who’s still loitering. Actually i’m thinking she wears a bit too much make up anyways.

Aoibheann has practically given me the room key.

There is this old man who is hell bent on me googling the dimensions of the golf ball. He says he’s into redesigning it to last longer. I think people like him shouldn’t be let into such a youth oriented event.

I’ve packed everything away, my P133 box, speakers and keyboard is stowed away and in the bag and i’ve slapped on my Lambretta T Shirt and fresh smellies and am good to go. The experience hasn’t been altogether bad. I’ve learned varying different things throughout the week, mostly about approaching women. If i could do it again, i probably wouldn’t, but if i had to i’d have a wingman i mean project partner so i could leave the stand unattended more. And i’d have a project worth more than spit.

The disco sucks. I’ve gotten to 3½ base with Bevin. Fiona changed out of her uniform and looks hot but it’s a no fly zone.

All that’s left is to return to school the next week and explain to the rest of my class what the experience was like. Do i tell the truth? Did i fuck! I should have been a politician.

In doing some research for this blog post, (it would’ve been lovely to show you my website in all its purple glory!) i did some digital snooping! Above is blazer boy who won that year. He has his own wikipedia page (the fuck), i recently befriended him on Faceache and he’s teaching in Trinity (College that is). If you look over his left ear you can see the top of my stand, eh , pretty nifty wha!

This post is for all the crazy kids who are entered into the Esat Young Scientist Competition being held this week. Special kudos and good luck to Tommy who is entered and living the dream. Here’s hoping your Fiona is there this year my friend : )

I know what your thinking, whatever happened with the chicks. Fiona probably went on to become Head-Girl for some oversized (now collapsed) financial institution. Bevin and I decided that the Liffey was too much of a divide after seeing each other for a couple months. Aoibheann floated around for a while, we swapped numbers at the end of the week and stayed in touch and ended up going out with each other for a good while.

Science wha? Bringing people together since 542 B.C.

UPDATE

Since posting it, i have come across some other photographs and just as a matter to set the scene i will add them. You might find that various things aren’t quite as i remember them as described but it was back in 2000.

The first of which is the gang of us. L-R is Dave (CD Burning man), Bevin, Moi, Fiona (sigh), Christina (?), mneh, and Sarah (?)

Fiona *sigh*

THE disco

My Stand