Lo! My good brother (or sister, if you are a girl). Find ye here the writing of The Guys,

‘And yea, the physics teachers saw the sun reflected off the windows onto the Wall of D-Block and they said unto the Guys, aha, you see, refraction. But the Guys pulled faces and secretly mocked the bespectacled boffins, for they knew the Truth. And the Truth was the Word and the Word was... quite difficult to make out, but if you squinted, it was probably saying something quite meaningful. Anyway, the teachers were filled with dread and gave commands that D-Block and it’s Talking Wall be demolished for a nature reserve.And so it will be shall for alway. Amen’

And so God commanded the men of the land to construct a building of unearthly shabbiness, an edifice of unparralleled mankiness to house the learned and noble arts of Home Economics and yea, Sex Education. The men rejoiced, for it meant more pictures of lady-winkies, oi oi, know what I mean? And it was good.

The Lord dictated that it be forty kirstens high, and thrice forty kirstens long, and constructed of plywood made fast with gopher shite. For years beyond the wit of reckoning they slaved, erecting vast papier mache turrets, balsa wood supports and smearing rare horridnesses from fararway lands along every windowsill. Mothers would turn their children’s faces from the gut-churning tattiness of it’s carpeting, even as the woodworm and cockroaches swarmed into the mighty building, two by two. At last, the Block that was D was finally complete. But the men noticed something strange about one of the walls. ‘There is something strange about that wall’, they would say to their wives. And they were right. When the light from the sun’s face hit the wall, it would twist and flow and form words, faces, and Monty Python quotes. Truly it was a talking wall. The men pointed this talking wall out to God, expecting him to lent loose his terrible wrath upon the eloquent facade. ‘Look, God,’ said the men. ‘That wall, right, when the sun shines on it, makes patterns. And, er, we reckon they look a bit like words. A bit.’ The men shuffled their feet. Finally God replied; ‘Hmmm. Yes, yes, er- never mind. Oh look, everybody, I made scones’. With the men distracted, God quickly fast-forwarded a generation to avoid the worker’s awkward questions. And what He saw displeased Him mightily. Gone were the flares, gone were the afros, gone were those ancient times. For this was the early nineties, and the people of this era had short haircuts with little quiffs at the front, and Doc Martens, and horizontally-striped T-shirts. And yea, even were there Pogs. But the garden of D-Block was thronged with people, at least ten, and they were called the Guys. Fourteen years they had lived, and divided they were over who was best; Oasis or Blur (it turned out to be Oasis). But for the moment they frolicked, happy as hampsters, swearing and bitching and beating up on their afflicted. ‘Oho,’ said God, ‘I feel a prophecy coming on’.

The Guys looked up from their games and saw a light reflected on the wall of D-Block, that same talking wall. Shaven Bob, he who walks like the eagle, massaged his piebald head in thought. ‘That wall’s talking to us, the Guys,’ he announced. ‘Yes, a talking wall,’ chirped Bob of the Beard to Plastic Har-ver-ver-ver. Little did he know the destiny he was fulfilling. ‘What’s it saying, then?’ mocked Harv, his plastic body wilting in the hot sun. ‘Look like ‘key’,’ opined Shaven Bob. ‘Ni! Ni!’ squealed Greedy Ready, having recently discovered the dirty pleasures of Monty Python. ‘No, shut up, he’s right. It’s saying ‘key’,’ roared Nick, savagely laying into the bloated heifer, who shrieked in pain. ‘Er, yeah, let’s worship it, or something,’ said Tom vaguely. Woody Real mumbled something dull, but he was probably agreeing with Tom. ‘Merrr,’ moaned Phil, clutching his bruised and battered innards to his belly. ‘No, stop it, everyone,’ said Shaven Bob. ‘Convene the Desk of Authority’. Harv leapt up and binged the bell. All the Guys gathered round and solemnly punched Phil, as was the tradition. The formalities over with, the Guys held council. After thirty seconds of lukewarm debate, they agreed to worship the talking wall, or Talking Wall as it was now known, as some kind of deity. It was that or listen to Nick and Beardie Bob recite the whole of the Red Dwarf episode ‘Quarantine’ for the hundredth time. And so the wall talked, and the Guys spent many a happy hour conversing with their stony-faced friend. ‘How is it to be a wall?’ asked the Guys one day. ‘Alright’ answered the wall, and so it was. For indeed the life of a wall is the most content of any of God’s room-dividers.

At a point there was revealed unto the Guys a terrible truth about the fate of the wall, the tree, and the Guys themselves. The ruler of that time spake in assembly that D-Block was to descend into rubble because it was made of plywood and was chav to the mank. And thus was the decision made to demolish D-Block. It was rightly felt that a huge expanse of concrete and rubble was more asthetically pleasing than the eye-sore that was D-Block. Besides, remarked Harv, they might build one of those concrete polar bear pens in it’s place. He was swiftly beaten into silence. So, the guys returned after their summer holidays, to find D-Block gone, along with the Talking Wall.