Youâd know walking into that classroom, that the snigger would eventually come from some townie cunt with fancy âcontactâ on his book. Youâd ball the fists, knowing the battle was inevitable, the first bell was coming, and that only one man would be left standing afterwards.
Covering the books actually made. No fucking difference whatever to the longevity. They still fell apart down the spine. The best thing about the Irish childhood back in the day was the weights training of dragging all your books and gear and lunch around everywhere.
There might have been some merit in covering books but those covers for copies only ever meant I was left with a cover of the copy loose in a plastic cover and the inside of the copy floating around on its own. Then again I was a disaster for minding stuff.