i remember bunking in.
back then cinema trailers were both a promise of things to come and tease of the forbidden fruit. it was all about the ‘x’ movies – the films i couldn’t see. the films i wanted to see, mostly because they promised action, thrills and spills, but partly because i wasn’t allowed to see them.
going to see an ‘x’ before you were allowed was a rite of passage.
i had decided my time had come.
i knew what i was going to see. i knew where i was going to see it. nothing was going to stop me.
i dressed grown up. i had on my neatest faded blue jeans, a white shirt, tie and a blazer, which if memory serves me was of a blue paid design. i thought i looked sophisticated – in reality i looked like a cheap hood out of an even cheaper gangster movie.
i hopped on the 140 bus.
once in harrow i made my way to the grenada cinema, it was a place i frequented a lot and of the cinemas i went to as a teen it was one of my favourites (it still remains one of my favourites now – even though i have not be to it in close on 25 years). the nearer i got the more nervous i became. mad flights of fantasy ran through my head as to what they might do if they realised i was underage (the simple not sell me a ticket was not among them). i hesitated. i went to look in the model shop that was next to the cinema (i don’t think i ever went into the model shop – even then i realised that my ability to make models was nil and why waste money – but i did hanker after the apollo rocket model from airfix they had in the window – oddly i still want it).
finally plucking up courage i made my way to the cinema (i wasn’t worried about the time as one of the things people used to do back them was just sit through the films until they had seen what they missed or watched it until the end again). i walked to the ticket office and asked for a ticket. my heart pounding, waiting for someone to accuse me of something.
my money was taken.
the ticket given.
i walked up the stars to sit in the circle.
i watched ‘death wish’ with charles bronson. the hard man of action movies. i loved it. don’t think i have ever watched it since. it was on with ‘mean machine’ starring burt reynolds. i fun movie that appealed to the rugby player in me. have watched it many times since and have even watched a couple of lame remakes of it.
i had passed my rite of passage. i had been to see an ‘x’ movie.
the cinematic future looked bright, it looked silver.
(less so for the grenada - its future had gold in it as it became the home of a well known gym chain).
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
seriously
this morning david cameron was going on about how the government had to work "harder and faster" to bring down energy bills.
this afternoon chris huhne was telling us how we should all be checking that we are on the best tariff possible.
government at its finest. sees a problem. sorts out a solution. amazing. not many people had thought of that.
yet here is an irony - there are a lage number of people out of work. there are a very large number of homes that need to be insulated. scope there for a government programme? i thnk so? will it happen? of course not.
instead we have the government facing off to the big energy companies - looking them square in the eye and doing what? the full sum of what they have achieved is to tell consumers that they need to look at what they use and to look for a better rate.
cameron and his cronies really are out of touch.
still while they are nice and warm we can all remember that we are in it together and bask in the glow of that knowledge.
this afternoon chris huhne was telling us how we should all be checking that we are on the best tariff possible.
government at its finest. sees a problem. sorts out a solution. amazing. not many people had thought of that.
yet here is an irony - there are a lage number of people out of work. there are a very large number of homes that need to be insulated. scope there for a government programme? i thnk so? will it happen? of course not.
instead we have the government facing off to the big energy companies - looking them square in the eye and doing what? the full sum of what they have achieved is to tell consumers that they need to look at what they use and to look for a better rate.
cameron and his cronies really are out of touch.
still while they are nice and warm we can all remember that we are in it together and bask in the glow of that knowledge.
Monday, October 17, 2011
-15
i remember jim the cat.
jim was annemarie’s cat. we seemed to arrive in her life about the same time. he was a stray who somehow decided that he quite liked the flat and the people who lived there.
i have no idea if jim was a typical cat.
there was a morning when i was more than half asleep, so much so that i wasn’t going to move even if there was a bomb in the flat. jim came over to me and made it perfectly clear that he wanted to go out. i tried to ignore him. the result was that jim just turned around squatted and dropped the largest sloppiest shit i have ever seen.
jim would go out on the prowl; he was a bloke after all. sometimes he would come back with a number of cuts. we took him to the vet. stitches in and bandage on. the vet told us we would have to keep jim in for a couple of days while he healed. it took jim less than 60 seconds to remove the bandage. the cat houdini.
sadly that led to the unkindest cut of all. another scrap. another trip to the vet. annemarie had arranged it. i just took him there. i was expecting to be told that his cut would be stitched instead i was told he was having the snip. ‘the what’ i screeched? my ball sack shrinking back in horror. the vet explained that jim was going out and getting into fights and this was dangerous for him, removing his testes would save him a lot of trouble in the future. jim looked at me as if to say ‘yeah right’ and as much as i needed to believe he vet all i could think of was ‘yeah right’.
jim’s look told me all i need to know – as far as he was concerned i was a traitor to him and to all males. i sat in the waiting room feeling like judas.
within a week of coming home jim was back out on the prowl. bolockless but proud.
it was the dead of winter and very late at night. annemarie and i were in bed canoodling, and maybe moving on to something a bit more raunchy. the bed was warm, the flat was cold. all was well with the world. or it was until jim started the meowing by the front door. meow meow meow, at first plaintive then angry. then came the scratching at the front door. it almost said ‘let me out’ in morse code. all of this was strange as we had only recently let jim back in from his nightly wander.
we ignored him and got on with the kissing and cuddling.
jim decided to come upstairs and padded into the room. he made his presence known by pouncing on the bed. normally he would have just found an inconvenient spot for us and decided he was going to go to sleep. not this time. he purred. he pawed. he bit toes. he did anything to get attention. frankly he was a passion killer.
as was the way with anything that involved one of us getting out of bed in the middle of the night to deal with it i was nominated. i thought about it. flat cold. me warm. short run to the door, short run back to bed. be quick. no need put any clothes on.
‘c’mon then jim’ i said, ‘if you want to go out let’s let you out’. jim was a clever cat and i am sure he understood every word i said. i dashed out from under the duvet. jim followed. he was quicker than me and like a black streak of lightning he was down the stairs.
now i have to stop the narrative here just to add a little colour to the tale. remember i had said that i had been engaged in some snogariffic action that was moving towards rumpy pumpy. the effects of this could been seen by the very full, very rigid hard-on i was sporting. as i rushed down the stairs it swung around like a demented divining stick hunting for water.
my woody didn’t impress jim; he was waiting at the door. pawing it. i pushed him away so i could open it and let him out.
an arctic blast greeted me when i opened the door, i should mention we were several floors up and the door opened up on to a view of the roofs and backs of the shops of the holloway road. sometime after we had gone to bed it had snowed.
it had snowed quite heavy/
it was freezing.
the cold moon glared down.
the snow was thick and gleamed virgin bright in the moonlight.
it was beautiful.
it was freezing.
i was naked with a boner standing motionless in my front door.
the only things that saved me from being a public spectacle was that it was the middle o the night and that it was too cold for anyone sensible to be standing around.
i could feel my balls contacting from the cold. i could feel my nipples turn to icy pebbles. i could feel the cat rubbing up against my ankles.
what the cat?
i looked down. jim was like me standing looking out at the snow. he was making no effort to go out in it. i pushed him. i shooed him. he wouldn’t budge. i think i lost feeling in my extremities. the cat wasn’t moving.
i turned my gaze on him and said i thought you wanted to go out. jim gave me a look that said ‘in this weather are you fucking mad?’ (i have no idea where the cat learnt such language). at that he turned and walked back into the flat and buried himself under a pile of clothes to sleep.
i took one last look at the snow. went back to bed.
i did take some delight in the squeal of anger from annemarie as i pressed my cold body against hers.
jim was annemarie’s cat. we seemed to arrive in her life about the same time. he was a stray who somehow decided that he quite liked the flat and the people who lived there.
i have no idea if jim was a typical cat.
there was a morning when i was more than half asleep, so much so that i wasn’t going to move even if there was a bomb in the flat. jim came over to me and made it perfectly clear that he wanted to go out. i tried to ignore him. the result was that jim just turned around squatted and dropped the largest sloppiest shit i have ever seen.
jim would go out on the prowl; he was a bloke after all. sometimes he would come back with a number of cuts. we took him to the vet. stitches in and bandage on. the vet told us we would have to keep jim in for a couple of days while he healed. it took jim less than 60 seconds to remove the bandage. the cat houdini.
sadly that led to the unkindest cut of all. another scrap. another trip to the vet. annemarie had arranged it. i just took him there. i was expecting to be told that his cut would be stitched instead i was told he was having the snip. ‘the what’ i screeched? my ball sack shrinking back in horror. the vet explained that jim was going out and getting into fights and this was dangerous for him, removing his testes would save him a lot of trouble in the future. jim looked at me as if to say ‘yeah right’ and as much as i needed to believe he vet all i could think of was ‘yeah right’.
jim’s look told me all i need to know – as far as he was concerned i was a traitor to him and to all males. i sat in the waiting room feeling like judas.
within a week of coming home jim was back out on the prowl. bolockless but proud.
it was the dead of winter and very late at night. annemarie and i were in bed canoodling, and maybe moving on to something a bit more raunchy. the bed was warm, the flat was cold. all was well with the world. or it was until jim started the meowing by the front door. meow meow meow, at first plaintive then angry. then came the scratching at the front door. it almost said ‘let me out’ in morse code. all of this was strange as we had only recently let jim back in from his nightly wander.
we ignored him and got on with the kissing and cuddling.
jim decided to come upstairs and padded into the room. he made his presence known by pouncing on the bed. normally he would have just found an inconvenient spot for us and decided he was going to go to sleep. not this time. he purred. he pawed. he bit toes. he did anything to get attention. frankly he was a passion killer.
as was the way with anything that involved one of us getting out of bed in the middle of the night to deal with it i was nominated. i thought about it. flat cold. me warm. short run to the door, short run back to bed. be quick. no need put any clothes on.
‘c’mon then jim’ i said, ‘if you want to go out let’s let you out’. jim was a clever cat and i am sure he understood every word i said. i dashed out from under the duvet. jim followed. he was quicker than me and like a black streak of lightning he was down the stairs.
now i have to stop the narrative here just to add a little colour to the tale. remember i had said that i had been engaged in some snogariffic action that was moving towards rumpy pumpy. the effects of this could been seen by the very full, very rigid hard-on i was sporting. as i rushed down the stairs it swung around like a demented divining stick hunting for water.
my woody didn’t impress jim; he was waiting at the door. pawing it. i pushed him away so i could open it and let him out.
an arctic blast greeted me when i opened the door, i should mention we were several floors up and the door opened up on to a view of the roofs and backs of the shops of the holloway road. sometime after we had gone to bed it had snowed.
it had snowed quite heavy/
it was freezing.
the cold moon glared down.
the snow was thick and gleamed virgin bright in the moonlight.
it was beautiful.
it was freezing.
i was naked with a boner standing motionless in my front door.
the only things that saved me from being a public spectacle was that it was the middle o the night and that it was too cold for anyone sensible to be standing around.
i could feel my balls contacting from the cold. i could feel my nipples turn to icy pebbles. i could feel the cat rubbing up against my ankles.
what the cat?
i looked down. jim was like me standing looking out at the snow. he was making no effort to go out in it. i pushed him. i shooed him. he wouldn’t budge. i think i lost feeling in my extremities. the cat wasn’t moving.
i turned my gaze on him and said i thought you wanted to go out. jim gave me a look that said ‘in this weather are you fucking mad?’ (i have no idea where the cat learnt such language). at that he turned and walked back into the flat and buried himself under a pile of clothes to sleep.
i took one last look at the snow. went back to bed.
i did take some delight in the squeal of anger from annemarie as i pressed my cold body against hers.
questions
questions i was asked this weekend.
while i was having a coffee in brick lane two emo goth girls approached me. in accented english (i think they were dutch) they asked me if i were french. i told them no.
what i should have said was 'why do you think i am french?'
while on the tube i noticed a young lady jump on and sit down near me. she was pretty in an interesting way. another girl sat opposite her. girl one started up a conversation about girl two being an archetypal metal girl. i am not sure what the evidence was for this but she seemed to have gotten it partly right. they chatted for a bit. girl one was also a bit of a metal fan, worked in the civil service and recently suffered the loss of her granny.
girl 2 gets off the tube after a girly hug, i am not so sure that girl 1 didn't want more (or maybe that was just me being pervy).
girl 1 looks around at the rest of the tube. hunts around in her bag. turns to me and asks if i had any chewing gum. nope i reply. she finds some gum. offers me some. i decline.
girl 1 then asks me what sort of music do i like. i tell her. she asks about bands i like. i reel of a list. she nods. she tells me i should check out a band called riverside.
she asks me where i live. i tell her. only two more stops for me. i ask her how much longer she is on the tube for - she has to go to mile end station and change there.
as i walked off the tube i couldn't believe i didn't at least try to swap facebook details. she was cute and she liked metal.
missed opportunity.
story of my life.
while i was having a coffee in brick lane two emo goth girls approached me. in accented english (i think they were dutch) they asked me if i were french. i told them no.
what i should have said was 'why do you think i am french?'
while on the tube i noticed a young lady jump on and sit down near me. she was pretty in an interesting way. another girl sat opposite her. girl one started up a conversation about girl two being an archetypal metal girl. i am not sure what the evidence was for this but she seemed to have gotten it partly right. they chatted for a bit. girl one was also a bit of a metal fan, worked in the civil service and recently suffered the loss of her granny.
girl 2 gets off the tube after a girly hug, i am not so sure that girl 1 didn't want more (or maybe that was just me being pervy).
girl 1 looks around at the rest of the tube. hunts around in her bag. turns to me and asks if i had any chewing gum. nope i reply. she finds some gum. offers me some. i decline.
girl 1 then asks me what sort of music do i like. i tell her. she asks about bands i like. i reel of a list. she nods. she tells me i should check out a band called riverside.
she asks me where i live. i tell her. only two more stops for me. i ask her how much longer she is on the tube for - she has to go to mile end station and change there.
as i walked off the tube i couldn't believe i didn't at least try to swap facebook details. she was cute and she liked metal.
missed opportunity.
story of my life.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
-16
i remember being stopped by the police.
my first choice of careers was to be a policeman – colour blindness put a stop to that. you can imagine then that i have a lot of sympathy for the boys in blue. i do. however that hasn’t stopped them stopping me in the street.
there was the time when a bunch of plain clothes coppers decided to take a group of us to one side at liverpool street station because they thought we had been smoking (gasp) pot. that they couldn’t actually keep up with the scallywags in question had nothing to do with it. instead of the younger and thinner crew they missed they settled for the next best thing: a bunch of blokes who were ambling by liverpool street station. we were searched and questioned. i don’t think we got an apology when they were done. i did get a stop and search report that described me as having long white hair. i was tempted to sue for defamation.
as i wander around london with my camera i am a potential suspect in the eyes of many policeman (i am a photographer – not a terrorist)) yet even when i set the alarms off in downing street resulting in the approach of an armed response copper i have found being polite is all that is required.
my camera almost got me into trouble on my first visit to runcorn.
i had stupidly managed to book myself into a hotel as far away from where i needed to be as possible. not to worry runcorn isn’t that big a place so it wouldn’t be too hard to walk from there to where i wanted to be. it was a plan. it was scuppered the moment i had it. i asked the hotel staff if they had a map of the local area. they looked at me as if i were the village idiot. i asked for directions. they were not very clear. not that it mattered as i soon forgot them.
camera in hand i set out on my mission.
clicking here and there as i went i soon realised that i was lost. not only was i lost but there were no one out and about for me to ask where i was and how i need to get to where i want to be. i found myself on a large long road on one side there was a large field, the other side a long row of houses. snap. click. snap. click. i might be lost but i can still take photos. on the field there is a tractor doing some work there is a little mist in the air. in my mind it is a good photo (it turned out to be shit). there is not a person in sight. i am getting worried now as i need to find someone in order to find out where i am.
it is like some very post apocalyptic movie where i am the only person left alive. true this is a vision that is ruined by the very occasional car that drives by.
i keep walking – i’ll find a shop soon. won’t i?
i can see a car coming towards me; it is slowing down and it stopping ahead of me. all i can think is ‘don’t ask me directions as i am lost’. out jump two plain clothes (sort of) policemen, they would have been plain clothes except for the prominent stab jackets with police in big letters on them. ‘mmmm’ i think.
they approach me. they ask me what i have been taking photos of. i tell them ‘nothing in particular’ i explain to them i am here to check out the area to see if i want to move here for work. they inform me that the field i was walking next to was a school playing field. ‘oh’ i say (a witty and clever response from me). i wanted to say it is a very empty and unmarked school playing field but i didn’t. i show them the pictures i have taken. they don’t compliment me on my clever compositions. they run my name through their database. i am clean. they tell me they are just doing their job and responding to a call from a local concerned citizen (or a bored busybody with nothing better to do than give the stranger in town a hard time). i tell them not to worry.
i ask them how to get to runcorn old town. they tell me to go across the road, down through the park and at the bottom of the path there is a main road and you can catch a bus from there.
i thank them and make my way to the bus stop. the mission is back on track.
the path they directed me to? ran between two schools both teaming with children.
i guess were coppers with a sense of humour. i put my camera away in its carry bag.
better safe than sorry!
my first choice of careers was to be a policeman – colour blindness put a stop to that. you can imagine then that i have a lot of sympathy for the boys in blue. i do. however that hasn’t stopped them stopping me in the street.
there was the time when a bunch of plain clothes coppers decided to take a group of us to one side at liverpool street station because they thought we had been smoking (gasp) pot. that they couldn’t actually keep up with the scallywags in question had nothing to do with it. instead of the younger and thinner crew they missed they settled for the next best thing: a bunch of blokes who were ambling by liverpool street station. we were searched and questioned. i don’t think we got an apology when they were done. i did get a stop and search report that described me as having long white hair. i was tempted to sue for defamation.
as i wander around london with my camera i am a potential suspect in the eyes of many policeman (i am a photographer – not a terrorist)) yet even when i set the alarms off in downing street resulting in the approach of an armed response copper i have found being polite is all that is required.
my camera almost got me into trouble on my first visit to runcorn.
i had stupidly managed to book myself into a hotel as far away from where i needed to be as possible. not to worry runcorn isn’t that big a place so it wouldn’t be too hard to walk from there to where i wanted to be. it was a plan. it was scuppered the moment i had it. i asked the hotel staff if they had a map of the local area. they looked at me as if i were the village idiot. i asked for directions. they were not very clear. not that it mattered as i soon forgot them.
camera in hand i set out on my mission.
clicking here and there as i went i soon realised that i was lost. not only was i lost but there were no one out and about for me to ask where i was and how i need to get to where i want to be. i found myself on a large long road on one side there was a large field, the other side a long row of houses. snap. click. snap. click. i might be lost but i can still take photos. on the field there is a tractor doing some work there is a little mist in the air. in my mind it is a good photo (it turned out to be shit). there is not a person in sight. i am getting worried now as i need to find someone in order to find out where i am.
it is like some very post apocalyptic movie where i am the only person left alive. true this is a vision that is ruined by the very occasional car that drives by.
i keep walking – i’ll find a shop soon. won’t i?
i can see a car coming towards me; it is slowing down and it stopping ahead of me. all i can think is ‘don’t ask me directions as i am lost’. out jump two plain clothes (sort of) policemen, they would have been plain clothes except for the prominent stab jackets with police in big letters on them. ‘mmmm’ i think.
they approach me. they ask me what i have been taking photos of. i tell them ‘nothing in particular’ i explain to them i am here to check out the area to see if i want to move here for work. they inform me that the field i was walking next to was a school playing field. ‘oh’ i say (a witty and clever response from me). i wanted to say it is a very empty and unmarked school playing field but i didn’t. i show them the pictures i have taken. they don’t compliment me on my clever compositions. they run my name through their database. i am clean. they tell me they are just doing their job and responding to a call from a local concerned citizen (or a bored busybody with nothing better to do than give the stranger in town a hard time). i tell them not to worry.
i ask them how to get to runcorn old town. they tell me to go across the road, down through the park and at the bottom of the path there is a main road and you can catch a bus from there.
i thank them and make my way to the bus stop. the mission is back on track.
the path they directed me to? ran between two schools both teaming with children.
i guess were coppers with a sense of humour. i put my camera away in its carry bag.
better safe than sorry!
comparison
edwina currie was on the radio tonight in order to review the sunday papers. she started off by telling everyone that she had enjoyed her champagne and smoked salmon. good for her.
one of the big stories of the papers was about the protests that had been taking place in various financial districts around europe.
after patronising a protester for not having a solution (because george osborne has one – doesn’t he) she sparked off an argument when she denied that anyone in the uk could be starving and no one had to make the choice between heating or eating.
when a caller pointed out that ms. currie had been going on about her champers and salmon and that for the majority of people that would be a luxury. ms. currie replied that it was a half bottle that had been given to her and that it was salmon bits. somehow her justification/ defence just made her sound very petulant and pathetic. (here is a tip to the rich conservatives – we know you have money, and lots of it, we don’t expect you to wear hair shirts and eat gruel (though it would be fun) we just don’t want you pretending you are suffering like the rest of us).
when challenged about the heating/eating problem she claimed that no one in the uk could be starving, there are children in africa who are really starving.
i guess that shows the level of compassion at the heart of the conservatives.
as long as they can point to people who are much worse off then you shouldn’t have the right to complain. you shouldn’t even think you have a problem when there are others so much worse off than you.
looks like the ‘we are in it together’ tact has failed so we might be entering ‘they have it worse than you’ phase – so just remember the next time you think you have something to complain about have a quick think and if there is someone worse off than you then just zip it buddy boy because you are still better off than them.
see all the social problems of the country solved, and not a penny spent.
i bet you are all feeling better now.
one of the big stories of the papers was about the protests that had been taking place in various financial districts around europe.
after patronising a protester for not having a solution (because george osborne has one – doesn’t he) she sparked off an argument when she denied that anyone in the uk could be starving and no one had to make the choice between heating or eating.
when a caller pointed out that ms. currie had been going on about her champers and salmon and that for the majority of people that would be a luxury. ms. currie replied that it was a half bottle that had been given to her and that it was salmon bits. somehow her justification/ defence just made her sound very petulant and pathetic. (here is a tip to the rich conservatives – we know you have money, and lots of it, we don’t expect you to wear hair shirts and eat gruel (though it would be fun) we just don’t want you pretending you are suffering like the rest of us).
when challenged about the heating/eating problem she claimed that no one in the uk could be starving, there are children in africa who are really starving.
i guess that shows the level of compassion at the heart of the conservatives.
as long as they can point to people who are much worse off then you shouldn’t have the right to complain. you shouldn’t even think you have a problem when there are others so much worse off than you.
looks like the ‘we are in it together’ tact has failed so we might be entering ‘they have it worse than you’ phase – so just remember the next time you think you have something to complain about have a quick think and if there is someone worse off than you then just zip it buddy boy because you are still better off than them.
see all the social problems of the country solved, and not a penny spent.
i bet you are all feeling better now.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
-17
i remember my first day at school.
i was a secondary modern boy. i was the last of them (and then the first of the comprehensive lot). i was not looking forward to my first day at vincent secondary modern school. partly because i wouldn’t be with my mates and party because i had heard horror stories of what it was like in the big school.
mum got my uniform from abernathy’s and son; it would be where i got my uniforms from for the rest of my school career. unlike the boys and girls at the next door grammar school my uniform was a sensible black trousers and blazer and white shirt and tie. easy. the school badge needed to be sewn on.
monday was on us.
mum walked me to school.
she took me into the headmaster to make sure i was in the right place.
she also asked him to show me how to tie my tie.
i was already beyond embarrassment.
mr. finer was happy to show me how to tie my tie. i have to admit it is still something i have trouble doing. while doing my tie the headmaster commented on the fact that my badge had been sewn on back to front.
oooops.
mum said she would deal with it that night.
i spent the day walking around trying to hide it.
turned out big school wasn’t all that bad.
i was a secondary modern boy. i was the last of them (and then the first of the comprehensive lot). i was not looking forward to my first day at vincent secondary modern school. partly because i wouldn’t be with my mates and party because i had heard horror stories of what it was like in the big school.
mum got my uniform from abernathy’s and son; it would be where i got my uniforms from for the rest of my school career. unlike the boys and girls at the next door grammar school my uniform was a sensible black trousers and blazer and white shirt and tie. easy. the school badge needed to be sewn on.
monday was on us.
mum walked me to school.
she took me into the headmaster to make sure i was in the right place.
she also asked him to show me how to tie my tie.
i was already beyond embarrassment.
mr. finer was happy to show me how to tie my tie. i have to admit it is still something i have trouble doing. while doing my tie the headmaster commented on the fact that my badge had been sewn on back to front.
oooops.
mum said she would deal with it that night.
i spent the day walking around trying to hide it.
turned out big school wasn’t all that bad.
Friday, October 14, 2011
-18
i remember shot put.
i was my school’s best shot putter.
i liked sports i just wasn’t very good at most of them. i was quite a chunky teen (as opposed to the fat adult i am now), my growth spurt came early and was short lived but it meant for a period of time i was bigger than a lot of my peers.
over short distances i was very fast. over long distances i plodded. with ball in hand i was pretty darned good. with ball at feet i was a bull in a china shop. anything to do with hitting a ball with an implement of any kind – just forget it.
essentially that narrowed down my options to rugby and the throwing events in athletics.
i enjoyed shot putting. it was easy. glide across the circle, heave the put (in a pushing motion) out and just look on in amazement at how far it had gone.
yay me.
i was unbeaten at school. setting records every year.
yay me.
i won the district championship several times
yay me.
then i got to go to the county championships. the big time.
all my previous competitions had taken place on school fields or school athletic tracks with about ten bored spectators waiting around to see their ‘little johnny’ perform.
the county championships were taking place inside a real stadium.
win this and you go on to compete for a chance to throw for your country. no pressure then.
unlike previous events this wasn’t just turn up give your name to some bloke at a table and that was it. numbers had to be pinned on, forms had to be filled out, names called out over tannoy systems. this was the real deal.
there have been several times in my life when i have been a big fish in a small pond. this was one of them – the difference was this time i hadn’t known it. this time i thought i was the bee’s knees.
my event was called. i ambled over to the throwing circle. looked around and shat myself.
suddenly i was the smallest person there. these guys were monsters. arms bigger than my legs. where i was in just a vest, shorts and trainers these guys had weight-lifting belts and the right shoes to throw shot with. this was a whole new league.
if i did realise i was out of my depth then i soon did when i got to throw.
i got down, nestled the shot into my neck, breathing right, balance right, power off the standing leg, glide across the circle, hit the backboard, swivel, throw/push exhale and watch it sail out … to fall way below the mark of everyone else.
i wasn’t even close.
not even spitting distance.
i just needed to warm up i told myself (even though the rational part of my mind was telling me that they had already out thrown my personal best. hey hope springs eternal.
sadly this wasn’t to be one of disney’s uplifting sports movies where the underdog comes good.
the rest of them got better with each throw. i got worse.
i came last.
ah well i was the district champion. that would have to do.
(as a footnote – the key to living with being a big fish in a small pond is to know your place and the limitations it puts on you. if you don’t know that (as i didn’t) it does lead to a very rude awakening).
i was my school’s best shot putter.
i liked sports i just wasn’t very good at most of them. i was quite a chunky teen (as opposed to the fat adult i am now), my growth spurt came early and was short lived but it meant for a period of time i was bigger than a lot of my peers.
over short distances i was very fast. over long distances i plodded. with ball in hand i was pretty darned good. with ball at feet i was a bull in a china shop. anything to do with hitting a ball with an implement of any kind – just forget it.
essentially that narrowed down my options to rugby and the throwing events in athletics.
i enjoyed shot putting. it was easy. glide across the circle, heave the put (in a pushing motion) out and just look on in amazement at how far it had gone.
yay me.
i was unbeaten at school. setting records every year.
yay me.
i won the district championship several times
yay me.
then i got to go to the county championships. the big time.
all my previous competitions had taken place on school fields or school athletic tracks with about ten bored spectators waiting around to see their ‘little johnny’ perform.
the county championships were taking place inside a real stadium.
win this and you go on to compete for a chance to throw for your country. no pressure then.
unlike previous events this wasn’t just turn up give your name to some bloke at a table and that was it. numbers had to be pinned on, forms had to be filled out, names called out over tannoy systems. this was the real deal.
there have been several times in my life when i have been a big fish in a small pond. this was one of them – the difference was this time i hadn’t known it. this time i thought i was the bee’s knees.
my event was called. i ambled over to the throwing circle. looked around and shat myself.
suddenly i was the smallest person there. these guys were monsters. arms bigger than my legs. where i was in just a vest, shorts and trainers these guys had weight-lifting belts and the right shoes to throw shot with. this was a whole new league.
if i did realise i was out of my depth then i soon did when i got to throw.
i got down, nestled the shot into my neck, breathing right, balance right, power off the standing leg, glide across the circle, hit the backboard, swivel, throw/push exhale and watch it sail out … to fall way below the mark of everyone else.
i wasn’t even close.
not even spitting distance.
i just needed to warm up i told myself (even though the rational part of my mind was telling me that they had already out thrown my personal best. hey hope springs eternal.
sadly this wasn’t to be one of disney’s uplifting sports movies where the underdog comes good.
the rest of them got better with each throw. i got worse.
i came last.
ah well i was the district champion. that would have to do.
(as a footnote – the key to living with being a big fish in a small pond is to know your place and the limitations it puts on you. if you don’t know that (as i didn’t) it does lead to a very rude awakening).
Thursday, October 13, 2011
-19
i remember advice.
i can only remember my dad giving me two pieces of advice. now these words of wisdom came from a man who a few years before i turned 16 told me he would sort me out an experienced prostitute for my sixteenth so that i could learn all the tricks of the trade.
he may have uttered the words of advice during this same conversation, which may or may not have been his attempt to teach me about the birds and the bees.
firstly he told me that when a woman says no – she means no.
secondly he said: and that is what your right hand is for.
words to live by.
though thinking back on it i never figured him for being a feminist.
my 16th i think i got some new rugby boots and a proper gum shield, much more practical albeit a lot less fun.
i can only remember my dad giving me two pieces of advice. now these words of wisdom came from a man who a few years before i turned 16 told me he would sort me out an experienced prostitute for my sixteenth so that i could learn all the tricks of the trade.
he may have uttered the words of advice during this same conversation, which may or may not have been his attempt to teach me about the birds and the bees.
firstly he told me that when a woman says no – she means no.
secondly he said: and that is what your right hand is for.
words to live by.
though thinking back on it i never figured him for being a feminist.
my 16th i think i got some new rugby boots and a proper gum shield, much more practical albeit a lot less fun.
-20
i remember farting.
i have never been shy about farting – happy to let a parp out whenever the mood or need strikes. the only time i have tried to control my flatulence was the early days of my tenure of being a step-dad. see i can be responsible.
so there i was at the london school of economics. the morning in the library hadn’t been as beneficial as i hoped. maybe a trip to the canteen for a coffee and a bite to eat would get me through the block. nice plan. for some odd reason i choose some fish sandwich or another. mistake. revitalised i returned to the library.
the block was still there. i read the same page three or four times and none of it was making sense. i went looking for another article or two – trying to approach the problem from another point of view. so i head over to the journal section. i start looking for the right issue of the american journal of sociology. that is when it hits me. or more accurately it is when it leaves me. a long almost silent parp. i look around to make sure that no one heard. it was a pretty quiet one so little danger of that.
all would have been well but for the fact that this long linger fart smelt as if it were the fires of hell wafting over a very large pile of stale tramp shit. it was foul beyond foul and it seemed to be drifting out into the body of the library. to make matters worse as i moved the stink came with me.
i took the only course of action available to me: i left the library. only to return when i thought the smell had gone.
i have never farted as bad as that again (though there was a time in sainsbury’s that was quite close).
i have never been shy about farting – happy to let a parp out whenever the mood or need strikes. the only time i have tried to control my flatulence was the early days of my tenure of being a step-dad. see i can be responsible.
so there i was at the london school of economics. the morning in the library hadn’t been as beneficial as i hoped. maybe a trip to the canteen for a coffee and a bite to eat would get me through the block. nice plan. for some odd reason i choose some fish sandwich or another. mistake. revitalised i returned to the library.
the block was still there. i read the same page three or four times and none of it was making sense. i went looking for another article or two – trying to approach the problem from another point of view. so i head over to the journal section. i start looking for the right issue of the american journal of sociology. that is when it hits me. or more accurately it is when it leaves me. a long almost silent parp. i look around to make sure that no one heard. it was a pretty quiet one so little danger of that.
all would have been well but for the fact that this long linger fart smelt as if it were the fires of hell wafting over a very large pile of stale tramp shit. it was foul beyond foul and it seemed to be drifting out into the body of the library. to make matters worse as i moved the stink came with me.
i took the only course of action available to me: i left the library. only to return when i thought the smell had gone.
i have never farted as bad as that again (though there was a time in sainsbury’s that was quite close).
fox
just what is it with the conservative cabinet ministers and their mates? is it a boys on tour thing?
to make matters worse liam didn't even have his mate share a room - more taxpayer's money wasted. though that can't actually be the case as the taxpayer's alliance haven't mentioned it on their website - so it must be money well spent. (nor can we making sniggering comments about their special relationship - how the press must hate him for that!)
as the pace of life quickens it seems time it takes governments to get entangled in sleaze also speeds up.
(as an additional bonus the papers can rightly claim: this is in the national interest - and it buries any stories about phone hacking. double bubble.)
to make matters worse liam didn't even have his mate share a room - more taxpayer's money wasted. though that can't actually be the case as the taxpayer's alliance haven't mentioned it on their website - so it must be money well spent. (nor can we making sniggering comments about their special relationship - how the press must hate him for that!)
as the pace of life quickens it seems time it takes governments to get entangled in sleaze also speeds up.
(as an additional bonus the papers can rightly claim: this is in the national interest - and it buries any stories about phone hacking. double bubble.)
canned
i expected it.
was hoping it wouldn't happen until the new year - but hey as my sainted mum used to say 'if ifs and ands were pots and pans there would be no need for tinkers' - yeah i have no idea what it means either.
anyway i have been shit canned from my job.
they are downsizing.
so the admin team i led at the college has lost four full-time members of staff and three part-time members of staff. leaving three staff and two bosses to deal with several hundred students. (oh and one of the members of staff they have kept on for just a month and one of the bosses won't go near students).
it isn't so much downsizing as it is pulling the plug.
so i am back to the job hunt again - just when the news of unemployment figures reaching a 17-year high. boy am i regretting my decision not to move north right about now.
oh well tomorrow is another day and options to be weighed and decisions made.
was hoping it wouldn't happen until the new year - but hey as my sainted mum used to say 'if ifs and ands were pots and pans there would be no need for tinkers' - yeah i have no idea what it means either.
anyway i have been shit canned from my job.
they are downsizing.
so the admin team i led at the college has lost four full-time members of staff and three part-time members of staff. leaving three staff and two bosses to deal with several hundred students. (oh and one of the members of staff they have kept on for just a month and one of the bosses won't go near students).
it isn't so much downsizing as it is pulling the plug.
so i am back to the job hunt again - just when the news of unemployment figures reaching a 17-year high. boy am i regretting my decision not to move north right about now.
oh well tomorrow is another day and options to be weighed and decisions made.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
-21
i remember throwing up
i might not have been the most punctual of employees but the one thing i could be counted on was turning up. in all my years of work there were only a few times that i didn’t make it into work. there was a time when i had the flu – not man-flu but dyed in the wool real knocked for a loop couldn’t move thought i was dying flu. the other time i called in sick it was so i could spend more time in coventry trying to patch up my relationship with my ex. it was time badly spent.
some might think i was dedicated – the truth was more to do with the fact that i lived alone and i quite liked playing the martyr act and getting sympathy from others. shallow? you bet.
this particular day had started off fine and dandy.
the usual round of talking to retailers, selling them books and dealing with their problems. going into the warehouse to pull an order or two and chatting with the lads. an average day.
it may have been the veggie burger i had eaten from the snacks wagon. it may have been a delayed reaction to something i had eaten the night before. it could have been anything. about midday day i was feeling like shit. a little later i was feeling shitter and very soon i was feeling even worse than shit. i had the cold sweats. i was burning up. i was shaking. i couldn’t see straight and there was a headache that banged and throbbed.
i was in no condition to work.
so i decided to do the only sensible thing: go home.
i said my goodbyes and headed off, rather slowly and unsteadily, to the tube station.
i finally got there – it was an effort.
bromley-by-bow is a so so tube station – neither good nor bad. it just is. i go through the barriers and head to the platform. i get down the first flight stairs and then it happened. it bubbled up out of nowhere and exploded out. i hurled. i heaved. i coated the stairs with runny puke. a big puddle of runny puke.
it was the first time i have ever thrown up in public. it wasn’t nice. i didn’t like it.
i went back to the ticket office. i wanted to know if they had a toilet so i could clean up and if they could give me a mop and a bucket of water to clean up my mess. no and no. well that was helpful. i wasn’t going to argue. i was just interested in getting home so i could sleep and get over whatever it was i had.
back to the platform.
i walked by the big puke puddle i had made.
i got to the platform. any train will do. first one comes in and i decide to let it go – not sure why just a feeling. then as it leaves the station i feel another quiver in the stomach, another surge and before i know it i am bent over expelling more puke and bile than i ever thought possible. pints and pints of it. where had it all been? no idea. i just knew where it all was – all over the platform.
it is bad enough puking in public (twice) now i was left with a horrid acrid taste in my mouth and no chance of getting rid of it.
i cuffed what was on my mouth and chin.
i was a mess and i knew it.
i must have looked ashen faced. i felt even worse.
everyone was looking at me. their accusing eyes seeing me as a drunk or an addict – i wanted to tell them i was really sick. honestly i was sick. i am sick i wanted to shout out. i didn’t. they looked at me as if i were evil.
fortunately the journey home was short and uneventful.
i sat down and turned the tv on and there was dipsy of the teletubbies playing in a green puddle.
it made me smile.
i might not have been the most punctual of employees but the one thing i could be counted on was turning up. in all my years of work there were only a few times that i didn’t make it into work. there was a time when i had the flu – not man-flu but dyed in the wool real knocked for a loop couldn’t move thought i was dying flu. the other time i called in sick it was so i could spend more time in coventry trying to patch up my relationship with my ex. it was time badly spent.
some might think i was dedicated – the truth was more to do with the fact that i lived alone and i quite liked playing the martyr act and getting sympathy from others. shallow? you bet.
this particular day had started off fine and dandy.
the usual round of talking to retailers, selling them books and dealing with their problems. going into the warehouse to pull an order or two and chatting with the lads. an average day.
it may have been the veggie burger i had eaten from the snacks wagon. it may have been a delayed reaction to something i had eaten the night before. it could have been anything. about midday day i was feeling like shit. a little later i was feeling shitter and very soon i was feeling even worse than shit. i had the cold sweats. i was burning up. i was shaking. i couldn’t see straight and there was a headache that banged and throbbed.
i was in no condition to work.
so i decided to do the only sensible thing: go home.
i said my goodbyes and headed off, rather slowly and unsteadily, to the tube station.
i finally got there – it was an effort.
bromley-by-bow is a so so tube station – neither good nor bad. it just is. i go through the barriers and head to the platform. i get down the first flight stairs and then it happened. it bubbled up out of nowhere and exploded out. i hurled. i heaved. i coated the stairs with runny puke. a big puddle of runny puke.
it was the first time i have ever thrown up in public. it wasn’t nice. i didn’t like it.
i went back to the ticket office. i wanted to know if they had a toilet so i could clean up and if they could give me a mop and a bucket of water to clean up my mess. no and no. well that was helpful. i wasn’t going to argue. i was just interested in getting home so i could sleep and get over whatever it was i had.
back to the platform.
i walked by the big puke puddle i had made.
i got to the platform. any train will do. first one comes in and i decide to let it go – not sure why just a feeling. then as it leaves the station i feel another quiver in the stomach, another surge and before i know it i am bent over expelling more puke and bile than i ever thought possible. pints and pints of it. where had it all been? no idea. i just knew where it all was – all over the platform.
it is bad enough puking in public (twice) now i was left with a horrid acrid taste in my mouth and no chance of getting rid of it.
i cuffed what was on my mouth and chin.
i was a mess and i knew it.
i must have looked ashen faced. i felt even worse.
everyone was looking at me. their accusing eyes seeing me as a drunk or an addict – i wanted to tell them i was really sick. honestly i was sick. i am sick i wanted to shout out. i didn’t. they looked at me as if i were evil.
fortunately the journey home was short and uneventful.
i sat down and turned the tv on and there was dipsy of the teletubbies playing in a green puddle.
it made me smile.
Monday, October 10, 2011
-22
i remember dark they were and golden eyed.
for as long as i can remember i have loved comics. it probably started off with beano and the dandy, a splash of whizzer and chips. some tv 21 not to mention look and learn. then came the discovery of dc and marvel comics.
odd that it was probably dc characters such as superman, batman and superboy that hooked me on comics as a kid when several years later i would become a marvel zombie (that’s what too much exposure to claremont and byrne will do to you). (as a digression i suspect the true reason for my love of marvel comics was more due to the weekly british reprints in such comics as ‘the mighty world of marvel’).
once i had discovered the four colour majesty of superhero comics i became a collector. i would buy everything i could get my hands on, which wasn’t much. i hunted for comics in newsagents and second-hand shops i had no idea what i was doing i just wanted to get more comics to read. the collecting gene had been awakened.
while i picked up comics from wherever i could find them i was pretty much unaware that there was a fandom out there. that there were others like me, others who collected, and others who had turned collecting from a passion into a science.
i don’t remember how i found out about dark they were and golden eyed – but i did. a shop in soho that sold comics. yes a shop that sold comics. joy of joys. i mentioned it to my dad. i wanted to go. he wouldn’t let me go to soho on my own. he would take me on the next saturday he had off. when that exciting day came i went to the west end with my dad and my pal joe.
we got there and it was all i could have imagined it to be and more. packed to bursting point with comics and books. comics and books i had never even heard about. wow. wow. and wow again. it was the ever loving freaking motherlode. of course now i know it was just a large pool in the potential sea of collecting – but ah what a clear gleaming pool it was.
i looked around. so much to buy. so much i wanted, no i craved it all. comics and books. books and comics. a treasure trove.
i bought a bunch of comics. i bought my first official proper back issues (jim steranko’s ‘shield #1” and jack kirby’s ‘new gods #1’ if you must know). i was that pig in shit.
if i am honest it was one of those days where my life changed.
now i know where to find comics. i would travel to dark they were for many more saturdays. i would follow it to its new location. i would be there when it morphed into forbidden planet and when key members of the staff formed their own shops such as comic showcase or gosh.
but that day all that was ahead of me. that day i had bought all i could afford and all i wanted to do was get home so i could read the comics i had bought that day. little knowing how that simple day out would affect me for the rest of my life.
for as long as i can remember i have loved comics. it probably started off with beano and the dandy, a splash of whizzer and chips. some tv 21 not to mention look and learn. then came the discovery of dc and marvel comics.
odd that it was probably dc characters such as superman, batman and superboy that hooked me on comics as a kid when several years later i would become a marvel zombie (that’s what too much exposure to claremont and byrne will do to you). (as a digression i suspect the true reason for my love of marvel comics was more due to the weekly british reprints in such comics as ‘the mighty world of marvel’).
once i had discovered the four colour majesty of superhero comics i became a collector. i would buy everything i could get my hands on, which wasn’t much. i hunted for comics in newsagents and second-hand shops i had no idea what i was doing i just wanted to get more comics to read. the collecting gene had been awakened.
while i picked up comics from wherever i could find them i was pretty much unaware that there was a fandom out there. that there were others like me, others who collected, and others who had turned collecting from a passion into a science.
i don’t remember how i found out about dark they were and golden eyed – but i did. a shop in soho that sold comics. yes a shop that sold comics. joy of joys. i mentioned it to my dad. i wanted to go. he wouldn’t let me go to soho on my own. he would take me on the next saturday he had off. when that exciting day came i went to the west end with my dad and my pal joe.
we got there and it was all i could have imagined it to be and more. packed to bursting point with comics and books. comics and books i had never even heard about. wow. wow. and wow again. it was the ever loving freaking motherlode. of course now i know it was just a large pool in the potential sea of collecting – but ah what a clear gleaming pool it was.
i looked around. so much to buy. so much i wanted, no i craved it all. comics and books. books and comics. a treasure trove.
i bought a bunch of comics. i bought my first official proper back issues (jim steranko’s ‘shield #1” and jack kirby’s ‘new gods #1’ if you must know). i was that pig in shit.
if i am honest it was one of those days where my life changed.
now i know where to find comics. i would travel to dark they were for many more saturdays. i would follow it to its new location. i would be there when it morphed into forbidden planet and when key members of the staff formed their own shops such as comic showcase or gosh.
but that day all that was ahead of me. that day i had bought all i could afford and all i wanted to do was get home so i could read the comics i had bought that day. little knowing how that simple day out would affect me for the rest of my life.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
-23
i remember being kicked in the balls
i used to do karate. i was quite good at it. our sensei was a south african who looked like peter fonda, he was a stickler for the ritual and tradition of the martial arts and it was this that i loved. alongside learning how to kick, punch, block, throw and fall we would learn about zen philosophy, we would learn to meditate. he would tell us about acupuncture and calligraphy.
i enjoyed the meditation sessions (though i was never keen on the kneeling down part as my knees always felt like they were going to pop), there were a few moments where i reached a certain level of peacefulness that were wonderful, but they were fleeting.
what i liked most of all was doing katas. i loved doing them. it is the closest i have ever come to being coordinated. knowing where everything was going to be from start to finish. i still get a thrill watching martial arts movies where they do their practice form (pretty much in all martial arts movies except those of the later seagal and van damme).
one day he decided that we would all spar, and that the sparring would be as close to real fighting as possible. so not fancy moves just what we would do to get out of trouble if we were in a fight. we had all done a bunch of fights with him walking around watching. then he decided that the sparring would take place with everyone watching. we all had turns.
up i go. up comes my opponent. we circle each other. he lets fly with a front kick to the stomach. i block and step forward for a punch. he blocks that. we go back to circling. this time i kick for the stomach. he blocks me and kicks. i block. he kicks again i back up and block. he blocks my punch and kick combination. it is all pedestrian stuff. nothing fancy. front kicks, front punches. strong blocks. we don’t notice it but we fall into a rhythm of the attacks, i block and attack, he blocks and attacks and i block and attack. even worse we are not varying our attacks that much. we are like a pair of modern dancers.
my concentration slips. i miss a block.
thwack. foot into balls. dead centre. i drop like a sack of spuds. before i hit the ground the sensei has caught me and is laying me on my back and with a few quick strokes of his hands along my sides most of the pain has gone (i have no idea if he was touching the right pressure points to relieve ball ache or it was just because i was ticklish and that took my mind off of it).
i sat the rest of the bouts out.
i walked funny for a couple of days.
so take it from me – don’t try this at home folks.
i used to do karate. i was quite good at it. our sensei was a south african who looked like peter fonda, he was a stickler for the ritual and tradition of the martial arts and it was this that i loved. alongside learning how to kick, punch, block, throw and fall we would learn about zen philosophy, we would learn to meditate. he would tell us about acupuncture and calligraphy.
i enjoyed the meditation sessions (though i was never keen on the kneeling down part as my knees always felt like they were going to pop), there were a few moments where i reached a certain level of peacefulness that were wonderful, but they were fleeting.
what i liked most of all was doing katas. i loved doing them. it is the closest i have ever come to being coordinated. knowing where everything was going to be from start to finish. i still get a thrill watching martial arts movies where they do their practice form (pretty much in all martial arts movies except those of the later seagal and van damme).
one day he decided that we would all spar, and that the sparring would be as close to real fighting as possible. so not fancy moves just what we would do to get out of trouble if we were in a fight. we had all done a bunch of fights with him walking around watching. then he decided that the sparring would take place with everyone watching. we all had turns.
up i go. up comes my opponent. we circle each other. he lets fly with a front kick to the stomach. i block and step forward for a punch. he blocks that. we go back to circling. this time i kick for the stomach. he blocks me and kicks. i block. he kicks again i back up and block. he blocks my punch and kick combination. it is all pedestrian stuff. nothing fancy. front kicks, front punches. strong blocks. we don’t notice it but we fall into a rhythm of the attacks, i block and attack, he blocks and attacks and i block and attack. even worse we are not varying our attacks that much. we are like a pair of modern dancers.
my concentration slips. i miss a block.
thwack. foot into balls. dead centre. i drop like a sack of spuds. before i hit the ground the sensei has caught me and is laying me on my back and with a few quick strokes of his hands along my sides most of the pain has gone (i have no idea if he was touching the right pressure points to relieve ball ache or it was just because i was ticklish and that took my mind off of it).
i sat the rest of the bouts out.
i walked funny for a couple of days.
so take it from me – don’t try this at home folks.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
-24
i remember puppies.
we had just moved into a new pub, it would be the last pub we lived in. the white hart was a big traditional pub with three bars. the big long public bar, the small games bar and the plush saloon bar. for a young kid it was a wonderland to explore.
we had a dog, sally, who was due to give birth. i was excited, what kid wouldn’t be: puppies! each day i waited for them to arrive.
my dad had put sally in the saloon bar (it was her favourite bar – the customers had been doting on her). each night he would check on her, each night before i went to sleep he would let me know whether or not she was going to pop.
as with all these things sally did it in her own time and when there was no one around. dad was worse than me and he had been checking on her all the time. so now that she had pups he came and woke me up. it was like christmas. in my jim jams i rushed downstairs with a gleeful squeal that only excited young boys can make.
i ran into the saloon bar and ran towards the basket that sally had been resting in. i could hear her and her puppies. i was even more exited by that. that speeded up the patter of my little bare feet. as i ran across the carpet i discovered that sally and her puppies had left a few little presents and i managed to run into them. dog and puppy poo squidging through my toes.
it didn’t detract from the sheer pleasure of seeing a bundle of puppies and their proud mother.
that said i don’t recommend playing with dog shit.
we had just moved into a new pub, it would be the last pub we lived in. the white hart was a big traditional pub with three bars. the big long public bar, the small games bar and the plush saloon bar. for a young kid it was a wonderland to explore.
we had a dog, sally, who was due to give birth. i was excited, what kid wouldn’t be: puppies! each day i waited for them to arrive.
my dad had put sally in the saloon bar (it was her favourite bar – the customers had been doting on her). each night he would check on her, each night before i went to sleep he would let me know whether or not she was going to pop.
as with all these things sally did it in her own time and when there was no one around. dad was worse than me and he had been checking on her all the time. so now that she had pups he came and woke me up. it was like christmas. in my jim jams i rushed downstairs with a gleeful squeal that only excited young boys can make.
i ran into the saloon bar and ran towards the basket that sally had been resting in. i could hear her and her puppies. i was even more exited by that. that speeded up the patter of my little bare feet. as i ran across the carpet i discovered that sally and her puppies had left a few little presents and i managed to run into them. dog and puppy poo squidging through my toes.
it didn’t detract from the sheer pleasure of seeing a bundle of puppies and their proud mother.
that said i don’t recommend playing with dog shit.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
-25
i remember the best pizza in the world.
after much debate and putting it off it was decided that we would sometimes put a person out on the road to go see some of our retailers. for some it was seen as a plum job (out of the office; bit of a jolly) to others it was a chore (hate retailers; smelly oiks). i enjoyed it – got to see some of the country, stay in hotels and hanging out with (in the main) nice people.
i like glasgow. it is a beautiful city. one of my favourite retailers (and i would like to think friend) has a shop there. so i was looking forward to being there. normally i would do such shop tours alone – this time i was accompanied by dan.
we did our jobs. we went around a number of shops. we commented on their stock. their layouts. we talked to them. we listened to them. we questioned them. we answered them. there were some lies; there were a few excuses and a couple of lies (well no need to hurt the feelings of the retailers).
first night we were there we stayed in the hotel bar chatting to a retailer and his wife. dan was happy to keep getting the drinks in: the joy of being on expenses. stories were told. laughs were had.
second night and we went out with a bunch of the staff from one of the shops. we went to a local pub. the bar was packed. the music was loud. the accents were thick. as the evening wore on the noise grew and the accents got thicker and i understood less and less of what was said to me. until in the end i was just nodding and shaking my head. no one seemed to notice (or care).
from there they took us to a local club that played hard rock music. we danced ourselves stupid. i shook my head. i sweated. i threw metal shapes and air guitar. it was a great night and a shame it came to an end.
we said our goodbyes and walked back to the hotel.
we detoured – hey it was late and we were pumped.
we found ourselves at the st. enoch centre.
we found a busy take-away with a large queue outside it. we joined the line. it moved slowly. people were either ordering a lot of stuff or changing their mind as to what they wanted.
my turn came – i got the largest pizza they did. dan did the same.
we sat outside at 2am on a chilly sunday morning, still coated in sweat, scoffing pizza.
the pizza was great. the company we had kept were great. the night had been great.
in fact we decided that sometimes the best things in life were the simple things. in the moment of eating pizza in a glasgow shopping centre very early in the morning we knew were having one of those times.
after much debate and putting it off it was decided that we would sometimes put a person out on the road to go see some of our retailers. for some it was seen as a plum job (out of the office; bit of a jolly) to others it was a chore (hate retailers; smelly oiks). i enjoyed it – got to see some of the country, stay in hotels and hanging out with (in the main) nice people.
i like glasgow. it is a beautiful city. one of my favourite retailers (and i would like to think friend) has a shop there. so i was looking forward to being there. normally i would do such shop tours alone – this time i was accompanied by dan.
we did our jobs. we went around a number of shops. we commented on their stock. their layouts. we talked to them. we listened to them. we questioned them. we answered them. there were some lies; there were a few excuses and a couple of lies (well no need to hurt the feelings of the retailers).
first night we were there we stayed in the hotel bar chatting to a retailer and his wife. dan was happy to keep getting the drinks in: the joy of being on expenses. stories were told. laughs were had.
second night and we went out with a bunch of the staff from one of the shops. we went to a local pub. the bar was packed. the music was loud. the accents were thick. as the evening wore on the noise grew and the accents got thicker and i understood less and less of what was said to me. until in the end i was just nodding and shaking my head. no one seemed to notice (or care).
from there they took us to a local club that played hard rock music. we danced ourselves stupid. i shook my head. i sweated. i threw metal shapes and air guitar. it was a great night and a shame it came to an end.
we said our goodbyes and walked back to the hotel.
we detoured – hey it was late and we were pumped.
we found ourselves at the st. enoch centre.
we found a busy take-away with a large queue outside it. we joined the line. it moved slowly. people were either ordering a lot of stuff or changing their mind as to what they wanted.
my turn came – i got the largest pizza they did. dan did the same.
we sat outside at 2am on a chilly sunday morning, still coated in sweat, scoffing pizza.
the pizza was great. the company we had kept were great. the night had been great.
in fact we decided that sometimes the best things in life were the simple things. in the moment of eating pizza in a glasgow shopping centre very early in the morning we knew were having one of those times.
Monday, October 03, 2011
-26
i remember theft.
there had been a spate of thefts at the warehouse, a number of expensive limited edition hardcover books had gone missing.
while a big song and dance was made of the stolen books when the culprit was revealed to management they went out of their way to cock-up catching him in the act (they had to apologise to him) but they also made those who had pointed him to to appear to be the villains of the piece. needless to say they never got much help in these sorts of matters again (which might have been the reason why one of our warehouses did a roaring trade in cheap cash-in hand product.
but that isn’t what this is about.
well not directly.
one of the managers was spin. spin saw himself as a man’s man, and he probably was except for the time when he dressed like an urban cowboy, albeit a fey one, or when his girlfriend dressed him as if he were the first reserve for boyzone.
spin was a clever chap. he was a funny chap (though never quite as funny as he thought – but then he did think he was the funniest man alive). spin was a man with a firm sense of right and wrong. he was also a man with anger management issues.
the warehouse was a busy working environment. lots of hustle and bustle. people moving here and there, stuff being moved all over the place. workers in the warehouse had three precious items: their tape-guns, their stanley knife and their pens.
pens would go missing almost faster than you could get new ones.
on this particular day (it was a nice bright day outside) spin was marking up pages to indicate where boxes should be put when they came off the next delivery van. the radio was either playing capital or one of the lads had it on some dodgy channel playing house music (youff eh!). all was well with the world.
then a verbal explosion. a shout. a howl. a roar. spin enraged.
where the fuck was the marker pen he was using.
which cunt had stolen his marker pen?
give it back.
pretty much everyone just looked at him with a ‘what are you talking about’ expression on our faces and we just got on with the jobs we were doing.
it is hard to tell what infuriated him more – the missing marker pen or the fact none of us cared.
whatever it was before you could say ‘that’s entertainment’ spin was standing astride the bench demanding that we all listen to him. a curious mash-up of bolshevik rebel rousers stoking the flames of revolution and a john barrowman clone about to do a lounge version of ‘ymca’.
he shouted. he proclaimed. he declaimed. he was vim and vigour. he was thunder and lightning. he was sound and fury. he told us we were all thieving bastards. he told us that we were scum. he told us that unless we gave him back his pen he would sack us all. he was in full flight. no stopping him. he was a colossus (if a colossus looked like they were about to burst into songs from the elton john songbook). he swore. he cursed. his voice loud and proud. he was in smoting mood.
the warehouse had come to a standstill. hushed. the only sound that of the impassioned rantings of spin. he went on and on. we were all fascinated by the performance. no one coming forward with the missing pen.
spin getting ready to burst a blood vessel.
spin ready to take names.
and voila there in his back pocket is the missing marker pen.
i thank you.
with a wry smile and a ‘let that be a warning to you’ look spin hops down from the bench and gets on with his work.
we shake our heads and get back to work.
just another day in the warehouse.
there had been a spate of thefts at the warehouse, a number of expensive limited edition hardcover books had gone missing.
while a big song and dance was made of the stolen books when the culprit was revealed to management they went out of their way to cock-up catching him in the act (they had to apologise to him) but they also made those who had pointed him to to appear to be the villains of the piece. needless to say they never got much help in these sorts of matters again (which might have been the reason why one of our warehouses did a roaring trade in cheap cash-in hand product.
but that isn’t what this is about.
well not directly.
one of the managers was spin. spin saw himself as a man’s man, and he probably was except for the time when he dressed like an urban cowboy, albeit a fey one, or when his girlfriend dressed him as if he were the first reserve for boyzone.
spin was a clever chap. he was a funny chap (though never quite as funny as he thought – but then he did think he was the funniest man alive). spin was a man with a firm sense of right and wrong. he was also a man with anger management issues.
the warehouse was a busy working environment. lots of hustle and bustle. people moving here and there, stuff being moved all over the place. workers in the warehouse had three precious items: their tape-guns, their stanley knife and their pens.
pens would go missing almost faster than you could get new ones.
on this particular day (it was a nice bright day outside) spin was marking up pages to indicate where boxes should be put when they came off the next delivery van. the radio was either playing capital or one of the lads had it on some dodgy channel playing house music (youff eh!). all was well with the world.
then a verbal explosion. a shout. a howl. a roar. spin enraged.
where the fuck was the marker pen he was using.
which cunt had stolen his marker pen?
give it back.
pretty much everyone just looked at him with a ‘what are you talking about’ expression on our faces and we just got on with the jobs we were doing.
it is hard to tell what infuriated him more – the missing marker pen or the fact none of us cared.
whatever it was before you could say ‘that’s entertainment’ spin was standing astride the bench demanding that we all listen to him. a curious mash-up of bolshevik rebel rousers stoking the flames of revolution and a john barrowman clone about to do a lounge version of ‘ymca’.
he shouted. he proclaimed. he declaimed. he was vim and vigour. he was thunder and lightning. he was sound and fury. he told us we were all thieving bastards. he told us that we were scum. he told us that unless we gave him back his pen he would sack us all. he was in full flight. no stopping him. he was a colossus (if a colossus looked like they were about to burst into songs from the elton john songbook). he swore. he cursed. his voice loud and proud. he was in smoting mood.
the warehouse had come to a standstill. hushed. the only sound that of the impassioned rantings of spin. he went on and on. we were all fascinated by the performance. no one coming forward with the missing pen.
spin getting ready to burst a blood vessel.
spin ready to take names.
and voila there in his back pocket is the missing marker pen.
i thank you.
with a wry smile and a ‘let that be a warning to you’ look spin hops down from the bench and gets on with his work.
we shake our heads and get back to work.
just another day in the warehouse.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
-27
i remember getting my degree.
doing my finals was a nightmare. i thought i knew it all. i thought i had prepared everything. i thought i was on top of my game.
first paper up was sociological theory – that was the easy one. that was the one i was going to slaughter.
how wrong was i?
very.
i came out of the exam room a beaten and battered man. a bunch of us went into the canteen to talk it over. none of us were happy.
depressed. worried. scared.
i went home and tried to study for the next day’s exam.
five days and several exams.
lots of coffee. lots of sweets. not enough sleep.
final paper taken. in the canteen again. lots of talk about how we all thought it had gone. for most of us it would be the last time we saw each other. i was so nervous i even missed the signals being given off by one of the foxier ladies on the course.
all that was left was the wait.
summer.
working as a caretaker. sometimes dull work. sometimes had work. good money and only once did i kill anything (those gerbils still haunt me).
except before that i got a call from college asking me to go in to transcribe my exam scripts because they couldn’t read them. ah the embarrassment.
so i got to see just how bad my work was. joy of joys.
back to being a caretaker.
buffing floors. sweeping playgrounds. washing windows.
waiting.
waiting.
waiting.
then it happens.
plop.
letter on the floor.
it is the one.
i hold it.
i look at it.
i look at it some more.
then i look at it again.
work up the courage to open it.
read it once.
read it twice.
have my mum read it.
yay i have passed. phew.
no time to celebrate have to get to work to clean two toilet blocks.
i never got to wear the gown and mortar board. just another thing to add to the list of regrets.
doing my finals was a nightmare. i thought i knew it all. i thought i had prepared everything. i thought i was on top of my game.
first paper up was sociological theory – that was the easy one. that was the one i was going to slaughter.
how wrong was i?
very.
i came out of the exam room a beaten and battered man. a bunch of us went into the canteen to talk it over. none of us were happy.
depressed. worried. scared.
i went home and tried to study for the next day’s exam.
five days and several exams.
lots of coffee. lots of sweets. not enough sleep.
final paper taken. in the canteen again. lots of talk about how we all thought it had gone. for most of us it would be the last time we saw each other. i was so nervous i even missed the signals being given off by one of the foxier ladies on the course.
all that was left was the wait.
summer.
working as a caretaker. sometimes dull work. sometimes had work. good money and only once did i kill anything (those gerbils still haunt me).
except before that i got a call from college asking me to go in to transcribe my exam scripts because they couldn’t read them. ah the embarrassment.
so i got to see just how bad my work was. joy of joys.
back to being a caretaker.
buffing floors. sweeping playgrounds. washing windows.
waiting.
waiting.
waiting.
then it happens.
plop.
letter on the floor.
it is the one.
i hold it.
i look at it.
i look at it some more.
then i look at it again.
work up the courage to open it.
read it once.
read it twice.
have my mum read it.
yay i have passed. phew.
no time to celebrate have to get to work to clean two toilet blocks.
i never got to wear the gown and mortar board. just another thing to add to the list of regrets.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
-28
i remember.
actually i don’t remember a lot – this is partly because i have a memory like a goldfish but mostly because i have lived a very dull life.
my earliest memory is of me in a park with my dad (it is not an interesting story – but i am going to tell it. however i must preface this story with a disclaimer i can’t say for sure if this happened or is a memory of a story my dad told. my dad was a teller of tall tales).
as another digression the earliest tales of my life are apocryphal. there is the one where the first word i said was ‘fuck’ – given my potty mouth this does have the ring of truth to it. then there is the story of how i got out of my cot to slap my dad (or my mum – depending on the storyteller) for laughing at doris day in ‘calamity jane’ – given the fondness i have for doris and the movie who knows. the final one involves a ghost telling my parents to move my cot in order to save my life, they move it and later that night the ceiling fell in on the room i had been in – your guess is as good as mine.
anyway.
back to the story of me in the park. i am around 4 or 5. i am wearing a jumper (probably with a pattern on the top half and plain at the bottom and probably knitted by my gran) and i think i am in a paddington bear style duffel coat. it is autumn going into winter. dad would have been dressed in jacket shirt and trousers. we would have been in the park to walk the dog, sally, and for me to run around mindless kicking a ball. dad would have been puffing away on a cigarette or five. leaves were everywhere and there was a wind blowing. dad kicked the ball. i chased it (even then it was obvious that i was never going to be a good footballer). as i was running towards the ball what i thought was a large patch of leaves turned out to be a large patch of leaves covering a large deep puddle. unlike in the cartoons where the protagonist realises there is something wrong and their legs run furiously in empty space i just sunk into a cold deep puddle.
oh don’t worry i was never in danger – it wasn’t that deep.
just deep enough to soak and scare me.
funnily enough it hasn’t stopped my child like love of the rain or of puddles. what has made puddles a misery for me is that pretty much all my shoes and trainers have holes in them.
actually i don’t remember a lot – this is partly because i have a memory like a goldfish but mostly because i have lived a very dull life.
my earliest memory is of me in a park with my dad (it is not an interesting story – but i am going to tell it. however i must preface this story with a disclaimer i can’t say for sure if this happened or is a memory of a story my dad told. my dad was a teller of tall tales).
as another digression the earliest tales of my life are apocryphal. there is the one where the first word i said was ‘fuck’ – given my potty mouth this does have the ring of truth to it. then there is the story of how i got out of my cot to slap my dad (or my mum – depending on the storyteller) for laughing at doris day in ‘calamity jane’ – given the fondness i have for doris and the movie who knows. the final one involves a ghost telling my parents to move my cot in order to save my life, they move it and later that night the ceiling fell in on the room i had been in – your guess is as good as mine.
anyway.
back to the story of me in the park. i am around 4 or 5. i am wearing a jumper (probably with a pattern on the top half and plain at the bottom and probably knitted by my gran) and i think i am in a paddington bear style duffel coat. it is autumn going into winter. dad would have been dressed in jacket shirt and trousers. we would have been in the park to walk the dog, sally, and for me to run around mindless kicking a ball. dad would have been puffing away on a cigarette or five. leaves were everywhere and there was a wind blowing. dad kicked the ball. i chased it (even then it was obvious that i was never going to be a good footballer). as i was running towards the ball what i thought was a large patch of leaves turned out to be a large patch of leaves covering a large deep puddle. unlike in the cartoons where the protagonist realises there is something wrong and their legs run furiously in empty space i just sunk into a cold deep puddle.
oh don’t worry i was never in danger – it wasn’t that deep.
just deep enough to soak and scare me.
funnily enough it hasn’t stopped my child like love of the rain or of puddles. what has made puddles a misery for me is that pretty much all my shoes and trainers have holes in them.
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