'and genitals like an untreated stab wound in the back of a hamster.' just when I start to think you are straying into the realms of self-regarding nonsense, this gem comes up. Thank you
I liked that very much, a multi dimensional coming of age tale. It must have been so confusing for you not having the father in your life at that most crucial time as a younger man..
Most likely would have railed against and rebelled as we all did, but having that hard working, solid patriarch, may have helped when you were feeling rudderless and fraudulent. Its a journey for sure and no matter how together other folk can look from the outside it is often just a mask they have learnt to construct as a cope for their inner anguish. My old dad has always taught me "We make our own luck in life" ...Therfore, "Be lucky".
Hello Ciarán, Well I decided not to make it so blatant, although that's why I mention Quadrophenia early on. It felt unnecessary to say 'It was my Quadrophenia moment' or whatever since those who know the movie will get it anyway, and those who don't wouldn't even if I said it. Thanks for reading.
You allude to the autobiographical nature of your writing and if you truly feel how you so eloquently described I admire your bravery for publishing it.
One of the few humans who can genuinely make me laugh.
Nice one Ian, thanks for reading. I guess it's a strange thing to open your inner self to the world, but it's what I've always done, telling stories. I don't write fiction, so all I have left is my own experiences, and if I can make them worth reading, whether just out of intertest, laughs, even a bit of identification, then it feels worth it.
Nice one, Greggo - thanks for reading. Imagine being called Boreham and teaching history. He could have blown your minds though, if he didn't have a curriculum that lived up to his name.
In primary school, there was Mrs Lee. She played piano at assembly in the morning and Mrs Lucas, the posh Deputy Head, who kind of did the job on a part-time basis - she had a rich husband and lived in Snaresbrook. There was Mr Carpenter and his hippy teaching assistant Miss O'Driscoll, I could remember her strumming her guitar, singing "With A Little Help from My Friends." My mum saw Mr Carpenter on a bus up London with his gay mates, dressed in leather, not that she cared, but he was as red as Belisha Beacon! Lastly, there was Miss Melia, who would get to sing school songs in assembly in funny voices. These teachers (except for Mrs Lee and Mrs Lucas) only lasted a year. My primary school was like a weird enclave; a village school of one class per year in an inner city.
In secondary school was Miss Mills. A history teacher who was actually enthusiastic and then there was my Head of Year, Mr Bryan. His lessons were discussions of random stuff and he would take the piss out of the Deputy Head, whenever he'd go running past Mr Bryan's class window, in pursuit of a kid bunking off:
"There he goes! Tie flapping! Red in the face!"
It rings true what you said about the stunted teachers. I found my form tutor, Mr Langton, on Facebook several years ago. He must have been in his early 20s when he started teaching, he was a PE teacher. But when I spoke to him via Facebook, he'd moved on and was now an electrician. He married and had a kid but I think it fell apart and the ex-wife did the old keeping the kid away from him thing and he committed suicide.
This is the first chance I have had to reach out and start writing newsletters myself again. The last three months saw my nan admitted to hospital with a mystery illness on April 5th. A disease that turned out to be Cancer of Unknown Primary. Where secondaries spread throughout the body but the initial tumour is missing (one of the reasons for that is that the immune system could have destroyed the primary tumour!) She back to our parents and we cared for her, until she died on May 26th.
Her funeral was on June 18th and it pissed down as she was lowered in with my granddad. It just remains to get her half of the headstone carved and going through her house and belongings, then sell it, unfortunately.
My art teachers were OK - predictably, and took to me as I showed at least a whisper of creative potential. But the environment had got to them over the years and even they were broken in ways they never thought possible. The 'nan' character in this story was based on my mum's mum. Had a mastectomy, a hysterectomy, but also the Gin, which kept her going. Like I said on your last comment, I like these little vignettes.
Thanks Dave, your comments have been very encouraging. I quite like that Brian Harvey, pulled that absolute hottie who was about 2 feet taller than him (who isn't?) and has said some funny things in the media over the years. I kind of grew out of the Ozric Tentacles when I realised what the cheeky blighters were up to, but I do occasionally have a dip for old times sake.
'and genitals like an untreated stab wound in the back of a hamster.' just when I start to think you are straying into the realms of self-regarding nonsense, this gem comes up. Thank you
I like to provide something for everyone, I'm an everyman kind of writer. Thanks for reading, Matty.
I liked that very much, a multi dimensional coming of age tale. It must have been so confusing for you not having the father in your life at that most crucial time as a younger man..
Most likely would have railed against and rebelled as we all did, but having that hard working, solid patriarch, may have helped when you were feeling rudderless and fraudulent. Its a journey for sure and no matter how together other folk can look from the outside it is often just a mask they have learnt to construct as a cope for their inner anguish. My old dad has always taught me "We make our own luck in life" ...Therfore, "Be lucky".
The Golfer Gary Player said 'The more I practice the luckier I get'.
So, the Storra boys said this on a video last week, and I passed it on to Paul Mumford, and now it's here too. It's a good one. Be practicing.
Nice one Mike, thanks for reading, I was a bit nervous with this one as there's no 'juicy bits' so to speak, you either go with it or don't.
It's classic Dartfordian for 'see you later', etc.
I fully expected a “Bell boy!” moment when the Ozrics showed up at the pub.
Hello Ciarán, Well I decided not to make it so blatant, although that's why I mention Quadrophenia early on. It felt unnecessary to say 'It was my Quadrophenia moment' or whatever since those who know the movie will get it anyway, and those who don't wouldn't even if I said it. Thanks for reading.
You’d think poor Gavin could’ve at least scored a sympathetic bang from a chunky math teacher after his wife ate the dashboard
Swings and roundabouts MosLab, Swings and roundabouts.
You allude to the autobiographical nature of your writing and if you truly feel how you so eloquently described I admire your bravery for publishing it.
One of the few humans who can genuinely make me laugh.
Thanks Christopher.
Nice one Ian, thanks for reading. I guess it's a strange thing to open your inner self to the world, but it's what I've always done, telling stories. I don't write fiction, so all I have left is my own experiences, and if I can make them worth reading, whether just out of intertest, laughs, even a bit of identification, then it feels worth it.
My history teacher/tutor was a Gavin. Mr. Boreham. The irony was not wasted on us.
Great story, had me wrapped. That poor hamster though...
Nice one, Greggo - thanks for reading. Imagine being called Boreham and teaching history. He could have blown your minds though, if he didn't have a curriculum that lived up to his name.
I did have a couple of good teachers.
In primary school, there was Mrs Lee. She played piano at assembly in the morning and Mrs Lucas, the posh Deputy Head, who kind of did the job on a part-time basis - she had a rich husband and lived in Snaresbrook. There was Mr Carpenter and his hippy teaching assistant Miss O'Driscoll, I could remember her strumming her guitar, singing "With A Little Help from My Friends." My mum saw Mr Carpenter on a bus up London with his gay mates, dressed in leather, not that she cared, but he was as red as Belisha Beacon! Lastly, there was Miss Melia, who would get to sing school songs in assembly in funny voices. These teachers (except for Mrs Lee and Mrs Lucas) only lasted a year. My primary school was like a weird enclave; a village school of one class per year in an inner city.
In secondary school was Miss Mills. A history teacher who was actually enthusiastic and then there was my Head of Year, Mr Bryan. His lessons were discussions of random stuff and he would take the piss out of the Deputy Head, whenever he'd go running past Mr Bryan's class window, in pursuit of a kid bunking off:
"There he goes! Tie flapping! Red in the face!"
It rings true what you said about the stunted teachers. I found my form tutor, Mr Langton, on Facebook several years ago. He must have been in his early 20s when he started teaching, he was a PE teacher. But when I spoke to him via Facebook, he'd moved on and was now an electrician. He married and had a kid but I think it fell apart and the ex-wife did the old keeping the kid away from him thing and he committed suicide.
This is the first chance I have had to reach out and start writing newsletters myself again. The last three months saw my nan admitted to hospital with a mystery illness on April 5th. A disease that turned out to be Cancer of Unknown Primary. Where secondaries spread throughout the body but the initial tumour is missing (one of the reasons for that is that the immune system could have destroyed the primary tumour!) She back to our parents and we cared for her, until she died on May 26th.
Her funeral was on June 18th and it pissed down as she was lowered in with my granddad. It just remains to get her half of the headstone carved and going through her house and belongings, then sell it, unfortunately.
My art teachers were OK - predictably, and took to me as I showed at least a whisper of creative potential. But the environment had got to them over the years and even they were broken in ways they never thought possible. The 'nan' character in this story was based on my mum's mum. Had a mastectomy, a hysterectomy, but also the Gin, which kept her going. Like I said on your last comment, I like these little vignettes.
Jesus Chris it’s beautiful.
Hello Ruben, that's a succinct and much appreciated response. Thank you very much.
Thanks Dave, your comments have been very encouraging. I quite like that Brian Harvey, pulled that absolute hottie who was about 2 feet taller than him (who isn't?) and has said some funny things in the media over the years. I kind of grew out of the Ozric Tentacles when I realised what the cheeky blighters were up to, but I do occasionally have a dip for old times sake.