York isn’t a bad town after all

A/N: The area this story takes place in is fictional. This work is fiction and hasn’t ocurred in real life. Any resemblances to other stories are purely coincidental.

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I still sort of remember the feeling of being new to the school. Fresh from London and supposed to attend some boarding school in York. So what if my father comes from York? I don’t care.

Anyway – this took place in 2006, and I was sixteen. I’m turning eighteen in three weeks as of me writing this. My name is James William Blackburn. Guess how many people has teased me about my name being James Bond when they knew my initials? That’s right, too many.

Now I shouldn’t get you all bored with this droning talk, and get on with the story.

As I wrote earlier, I was sent to this boarding school in York, being forced to move from London. Hate that place, but I still felt a tad bit down as I got in the car that was going to drive me there. My possessions were – as appropriate – sent by train together with my father’s valet. Yeah – I know my father’s a bit old-fashioned, but hey – I don’t blame him. Our family’s been brainwashed about that for… Quite many years now. A couple of centuries or so, eh?

I don’t really care that much – sure, we’re like, richer than… Let’s see – just about most people in London – and while I’m no Daniel Radcliffe by far, becoming rich by wearing a pair of glasses and waving a pointy stick in the air, I’m not poor either.

I have a hard time staying on track, haven’t I?

Where was I?

Yeah, I arrived in York about two weeks before school began, so that I could explore the town for a bit.

Father’s valet, Bertram, was supposed to stay there until school began, and apparently he had been strictly ordered by my mother not to let me go anywhere that might put me in bad company, and I was by no means allowed to see any girls.

This might seem strange – a valet supposed to be in charge of his employer’s son, but my father isn’t really as he’s supposed to be, and my mother? We’ll, she’s busy seeing to it that my father doesn’t get any stupid ideas. They’re both a bit eccentric, but hey – I won’t blame them, so were my grandparents.

After just a couple of days, I got tired of having Bertram following me everywhere I went, so I decided just to stay indoors until I could figure out some way to ‘give him the slip’.

Then one morning – like 9 A.M, or something, he went out to get something from some nearby store. I got up, got dressed and left a note saying that I had gone for a stroll. I also ‘forgot’ to bring my cell. How convenient, aye?

At first I just roamed around, checking the stores and seeing if I could find myself a new t-shirt, and I found one with a cartoon James Bond and the text ”Shaken, not stirred”, below. I paid for it and when I was about to leave, I saw this hot blonde girl in a tight shirt and a skirt barely reaching below her buttocks. Isn’t that interesting?

She was rather short – I estimated her height to be around 5’5” or so, and slenderly built, which wasn’t very much compared to my 6’2” and fairly large body.