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Memories of my younger days

A few boys from school have caught up with me on Facebook and I still stay in touch with a few others. I saw John Lindsay in Abu Dhabi at Easter and am visiting Jim Dickens this very weekend.

Old photos get me thinking and I am digging some out to post as we speak.

However there is one blog that just “makes I laff!” and brought back some vivid memories of some nights out. It is the one linked below:

Bristol Clubs and Pubs

Enjoy boys!

Those were the days Part 20

Two fingers…..

I used to teach in a lab that was joined to another with a prep room in between, in a self contained detached block. The block was a bit like a pair of huts, but a bit more substantial. The whole block was brick built with a flat roof that leaked like a sieve. Both labs had a huge bank of windows that looked out over a grassed area called the Quiet Green.

Richard Michaels (aka RM) – the hard-nosed mentor of mine and T-club member taught next door. RM had a way of controlling kids that was second to none and was always willing to “give ‘em a good whelping” if they stepped out of line.

One day I was chalking and talking to a class that were clearly being distracted by something outside on the Quiet Green. So I turned around to see a lad sheepishly standing on a picnic table right in the middle of this open space. I went outside to investigate and the kids I left behind in my lab jumped up on the side benches to get a grandstand view, faces pressed up at the glass of the windows. They all stared at this lonely looking boy stood on the picnic table.

RM had the whole of his own class lined up outside his lab and was barking orders at this clearly bewildered student as the rest looked on.
“That’s it son, up you get!” bellows RM.
The boy stands on the picnic table, blinking and unsure.
“You have not been paying any attention to me back there in that room; it is as if you are sticking two fingers up to me for the whole lesson”

The kid shuffles a bit with his tail between his legs.
“So you can come out, do it properly and stand up there for the whole world to see!” comes the cry, which is so loud that kids in the English block are looking out too at the spectacle.
RM stands there, arms folded. He barks again at this lad, who looks like he needs the toilet,
“So let’s be having you! Stick your two fingers up to me!”

The kid is very unsure as to how best to proceed. Giving RM the old “V” sign is something he is not comfortable with, nevertheless he slowly raises his hand.
“That’s it! Stick your fingers up!”
Two girls in the line stood outside the lab muffle a titter, but RM still turns around to glare at them.
“That’s all that I am good for isn’t it son? Two fingers…..”
The lad still stands there giving the salute.

I shake my head in disbelief and get back to my class.

Classic one liners….2

Classic One liners

I used to play a lot of golf with a mate called Alex who could play a bit. We were neighbours at the time when we used to get up literally at the crack of dawn every Sunday and be out teeing off at our local municipal pay and play – Wycombe Heights Golf Club. We would play all winter long like this.

The start of the morning’s round consisted of dumping our bags on the 1st tee and sneaking back to the range to pick up a few practice balls. After cracking open a can of Stella Artois “the choice of champions”, we would take it in turns to hit a range ball off the 1st tee and see if you could still see it land down on the fairway. If we could not see where our tee-shot had ended up it was too dark, so we would sup some more beer.

It would slowly get lighter and once our practice balls stood out on the fairway ahead of us we were off. We used to scoot round in just over 2 and a half hours some mornings.

On occasions we were joined by another mate or two, but they never had the stamina to come out on a regular basis. One such lad called Martin the Mouth joined us one February morning for a game that we had put a few quid on to keep the ‘interest’ going.

We were stood on the 16th tee and as you can see from the video it is elevated above the target green.

In fact if you play as we did (illegally) from the members’ tee the green is well below you as you start the hole, as the tee is set up on a large shelf. The hole itself is a par 3 and not too far, especially as it is downhill all the way to the pin.

All the trouble is at the front where two big bunkers deter you from dropping short with your tee shot. Added to this if you miss the green on the right it can run away for miles down a steep bank.

In wintertime one of the best ways in is to smack the ball left into the beech trees and let the ball feed off a steep, chalky slope from there directly onto the green.

Martin was stood at the tee with the ‘honour’ having one the previous hole. He was ahead on points for the money we had wagered and there were only a few holes left. Basically Martin was in the box seat.

Alex saw this shot as a chance to claw back the advantage by means of a bit of sports psychology. As Martin prepared for his shot at the green Alex casually said

“Right, you win this hole and the money is good as yours Martin. So there is a bit of pressure on you here Boy!”

Martin set himself for the shot and as he did he replied in quiet, calm voice with a great comeback.

“Nah, this ain’t pressure. Pressure is when you are sat on the roof of your flooded house being forced to watch your wife give birth in a nearby tree!” he said as he began to tee off.

He had drawn back his club by now, so he paused for a instant whilst he brought the club through the ball and cracked a super tee-shot.

“Now that is pressure Alex” he said calmly as he gazed at his ball sailing on towards the green.

The “miracle” Baby –  CLICK HERE to read more

BBC World Service on Floods in Mozmbique – CLICK HERE

Haiku 5

Haiku inspired poetry.

View across Honfleur

Dark, distant crucifixes point in vane through a damp mist,

showing a connection that has slowly faded from our consciousness.

The grey slates glisten through the gloom,

whilst the present-day diviners point in a different direction.

Using a different medium,

they seek out new Gods to worship.

.

Box of vinyl ……………………………(5)

The Selecter – Three Minute Hero

Rummaging around in that singles box again. There are a few 2 Tone singles in there and I forgot that the Beat were actually on Go Feet! Towards the back I found this little tune.

Singles always used to have the song time length stamped on the label.

Guess what the digits are on this disc?

Yep

(3.00)

Times have changed…..

One of my first jobs was working behind the bar at The Kensington Arms in Redland, Bristol

Times have changed however, 30 years ago the Kensington was a run of the mill place- the punters were pretty bohemian, but down to earth. It was a drinkers’ pub which served the odd hot snack, but I sold more packs of Old Holborn than pasties in my time behind the bar there.

During the late 80’s The Kensington Arms had a Jack Russell terrier in residence that was called “The Rat”. She was a source of amusement though if you “charged her up” correctly. After finishing the glass collecting and general clear up after a busy Saturday night shift the landlord would often get his staff a drink before we went off home. At this point the Rat would often totter into the front bar and join us. The game we played on her was a bit cruel, but she never learned from her previous mistakes. We used to pick her up and put her on the bar counter. Then we would pour her a drink. Her tipple was Guinness which she drank out of a half filled ashray.

The Rat would just lap it up and the Guinness soon took effect, which you could normally tell when her back legs started to give way. Fair play to the old girl though as she would sit there still on her haunches and sup away until her front legs went. At which point her head lolled about and then she normally zonked out. Once she had fallen asleep she would be scooped up and plonked in her basket by the evening shift as a present for the Sunday lunch shift to open as it were.

In reality it was like leaving a time bomb as the next morning the Rat would wake up with a cracking hangover. She would be cranky and foul tempered, which was no laughing matter if you were pulling pints with her around. She would get the arse ache, snap and growl and often nip your ankle as you walked past her. The Rat was simply a nightmare to deal with when she had a hangover, but like a lot of people she would never learn.