Rimmer Shit (Childhood Memories)
Rimmer
Shit in Jan 2002; Sport, First Football Memories The Sound of Music, Earliest
Memory, Adverts, What’s on the Telly, Toys, Food, Cars, What I did on my
Holidays, Music, Pets, Pissing Contest, Mr Jones, First Day at School, The Play
Area, The Woods, Trespassers will be Prosecuted, The Pond, The River, The Pipe,
The Valley, Why Rimmer Shit?
Rimmer
Shit in Feb 2002: Games, Fancy Girls, Troy Tempest, Football Cards,
Stephen Taylor, Stupid Rules, Starting Sunday School, Monitors and Prefects,
Old Money, House Points, The Titanic Story, story!, Milk, Cubs and Scouts and
Crabs, Anthony, The Mystery House on the Hill, Valley Drive Community, Tony
Woolf’s Birthday, My Birthday, Throwing, Accidents will Happen, Au Pairs,
Claire Jones, The Cows of Valley Drive.
Rimmer
Shit in March 2002: Hymns, Smells, Fear, Alexandra Bastedo,
Superheroes, Blue Peter, Ladybird Books, Bubble Gum and Kicking your Chuddy,
Firearms, House Décor, Summer Time, The
Onion Man, Fashions and Trends, Bike, Trees, Haircuts, Dad, My Bedroom, Mum, St
Ives.
Rimmer Shit in
April 2002: Books,
Politicians,
Are
You Coming out to Play?, Homework, My Handwriting, F.A Cup Finals, Football Heroes, Flying Machines,
World War II,
Gardening,
Staying up
Late, Boys Feats of Strength, Medicine, Body Tricks, Parties, Nature Boy, God, Accountancy, What do you want to be when you grow up?, Weird
Contraptions, Famous Numbers from my Childhood, Follow
the Yellow Brick Road, Stupid Things to Do, Who’s Scary?,
More Smells,
Rhymes, April Fools Day.
I was never a
great book reader. I preferred factual
reference books to novels.
The two books
which stand out for me were my 20 Volumes of The Children’s Encyclopaedia
Britannica, and The Guinness Book of Records.
I don’t think
there was anything in the those 2 (21!) books I didn’t know, especially most of
the world records.
In terms of
fiction, I loved the Paddington Bear books, I loved Secret Seven but not The
Famous Five.
And right now, I
can’t think of anymore fiction books, which just goes to show what little
impression novels left on me as a kid.
There always
seemed too much else to do rather than read a novel. And yet I’d spend hours on my bed reading my
encyclopaedias.
I guess no
fiction book really captured my imagination as a kid. I’m sure I was looking for it, but it never
happened.
My parent weren’t
great readers, and my Dad read the newspaper a lot, so that rubbed off on my
from a very early age.
I used to wake up
in the morning very early, and had the sense to not disturb Mum and Dad, so
instead I went downstairs and listened to the radio and read the newspaper as
soon as it arrived. I think I was only 6
when I started looking up the football scores.
Just thinking
about politicians as a kid, what was my perspective?
I thought Nixon
was innocent (just shows how naïve I was along with half of
Harold Wilson had
a funny pitched voice and pipe. He was
our permanent prime minister in a raincoat.
Ted Heath had a
funny laugh and his shoulders moved when he laughed (this of course is all
courtesy of Mike Yarwood, impersonator)
George Brown was
always pissed (according to my Dad).
Roy Jenkins was
my Dad’s kind of guy (except later when he didn’t know who Clint Eastwood is, I
realised
Bobby Kennedy has
died. That’s what it said on our TV
during the day. I didn’t know who Bobby
Kennedy was but it sounded serious enough to tell Mr Watson across the road.
Dennis Healey had
funny eyebrows and said “Silly Billy” a lot (Mike Yarwood again).
Margaret Thatcher
wasn’t born yet.
Gerald Nabarro
(Blimey my memory is good, it’s a cracking link with a twist at the end!) had a
funny handlebar moustache, was prosecuted for driving, and had lots of cars
with personalised number plates.
Enoch
Powell. Pure evil. And I was just a kid and knew that.
Anthony Barber
seemed a funny name for a bald man.
That’s enough
politicians for now.
And as for our
local MP. They seemed to range from
kindly Dr Winstanley a liberal who was on
No wonder I have
a healthy disrespect for almost all politicians. Even the ones who claim to be above it all.
Why? Because to get to where they have, even Tony
Benn had to compromise on some of his heart felt beliefs.
Politics is the
art of the compromise.
So when Tony
Blair get his onion out for few tears I know that to get to the top he’s had to
drop some of what he really believes in.
Terrifying.
I think I knew
this even as a kid.
Writing about
networking as an adult set me thinking about who called on who as kids.
If there was a
house you were allowed to play in and you enjoyed playing in then you’d go
round to them.
Our house had a
pretty open policy, so may came round to our house, except my Dad was a bit
scary by his silence.
Our back garden
was a good free for all, except a temporary ban when the football went through
one of the main windows.
Also, our house
seemed a good route in to The Valley, so we always had people coming through
the house on the way into The Valley.
Sometimes you
didn’t call on anyone, you just congregated in the street and hoped there were
enough of you for football.
If there was
no-one around then you got on your bike and cruised a wider geography until you
found footie players.
Normally you
found them by them kicking a football at your bike wheel as you were cycling,
so you couldn’t fail to notice them as you fell off your bike.
Or off to The
PlayArea for a real game of footie on the grass.
Usual Phrases,
“Can Stephen come
out to play?” or
“Are you coming
out to play?”
It was only in
teenage years and as grown ups they we seem to have this stupid game of who
calls who and who visits who.
When you’re a kid
you just get on with it.
I want to play football
so I’d better call on some kids who can play.
Some kids are
nowadays doing 5 hours homework per night.
Fortunately at
Handforth C of E we never had homework from what I can remember.
Consequently the
academic achievements of Handforth C of E weren’t as high as say the preppie
school I was crammed into aged 9 where they loved dishing out the homework.
Childhood is for
play and discovery, not bloody homework.
As I’ve said
before, I cried the first day I was given homework. Essay on The Titanic.
I hated homework
and I never did that much.
Couldn’t
concentrate after 5-00 in the evening.
And why should I,
I’d been at school all day.
Actually, we must
have had homework at Handforth C of E because that’s how I learnt my Tables.
I didn’t seem to
perceive it as homework. Just fun to
work out the next table and learn it.
I think the route
of my problem with homework is below. I
couldn’t write. I struggled to write.
And most homework
is written.
Except maths
which I quite enjoyed.
I ran a training
course in which I was thanked for finishing at 5-00 each day and not giving out
“homework”.
Why would I work
people like slaves all day and then gave them “homework” which I detested.
Thank goodness I
practise what I preach.
Why is it that
everyone else in the world can write like an adult except me.
Why is it that my
handwriting still looks like a 6 year old’s.
What is the
miracle ingredient I lack, that all other people have?
I don’t get
it. From the age of 6 my handwriting has
hardly improved.
It all started
when I couldn’t make my ‘S’s small enough to do joined up handwriting, so I
lagged behind most of the rest of the class with their fancy neat joined up
writing. Eventually I did do joined up
writing a year or two later, but it was so bad that my Mum had to give me extra
coaching.
A decade later I
gave up and went on to printed capitals where I’ve stayed ever since. Thank God for the word processor. I wouldn’t have been able to write this 15
years ago.
My handwriting
has always been a deep embarrassment to me.
I seem to think faster than I can write and that’s the main source of my
problem. I don’t finish my letters, I’m
too keen to write the next letter and word before I forget what I was going to
write about.
My chemistry
teacher once put on my report
“It may be found
he is quite brilliant, if I could read what he’s written!”
I kind of felt
discriminated against because I simply couldn’t express in writing what my
brain (and to a lesser extent my mouth) was saying.
It’s almost like
I have a stutter in my head, even though my thoughts are fast.
I realise now
that I’m probably dyslexic. I match many
patterns of dyslexics both in style and attitude. In the end it never really held me back but
hell it was a real struggle, and I didn’t seem to get any sympathy at the time
because I managed to cope.
My maths and
spatial ability was at times brilliant.
But we live in a written world. A
written education system, which still to this day doesn’t make use of other
types of intelligence. One is measured
on a very narrow criteria of what is useful and intelligent, and God help you
if you don’t fall within these criteria.
I guess this is
why I so much love writing this because I’m not physically constrained by my
handwriting, and I can now show my passion.
The F.A Cup final
used to be the single most exciting sporting event of the year.
From 1968
It was a whole
day event from in the morning with It’s a Knockout via Meet the Player’s Wives,
to the players walking on the hallowed turf
in their brown suits, to the actual game.
I just loved it.
Just writing
about my all time
Makes me think of
the players I loved as a child.
I never hero
worshiped a sports players and there’s not one which stands out, other than observing
all the fuss about Georgie Best.
Other players
that come to mind, were of course United players, Bobby Charlton, not so much
Dennis Law, Brian Kidd for scoring on his 18th birthday in the
European Cup final in ’68 against Benfica.
Alex Stepney for being a steady goalie and loyal servant of United.
Also I was there
when he became equal top goalscorer for a while for United in ’73.
At the end of
that season Sammy McIlroy finished top scorer with 6 goals and Stepney wasn’t
far behind with 2.
That’s how bad
the season was when your goalkeeper was for a time your equal top scorer.
I also saw Sammy
McIlroy score on his debut in a famous
I also liked some
of the City players.
Colin Bell, Mike
Summerbee, Neil Young who lived round the corner, Joe Corrigan.
But as a United
fans we learnt to hate, Mick Doyle and Francis Lee. And Mick Doyle hated us!
I loved the
Now known as
“Dirty Leeds”, I’m sure that history has changed the image of the team into a
dirty team.
I don’t remember
them being known for being any more dirty than any other team.
It’s funny
because it’s like this worship of John Lennon.
It was only recently that someone said the same thing I always thought.
There was Paul
McCartney, Ringo Starr, and the other two.
I thought it was just me who thought my memory was playing tricks with
me.
Same with
They say Johnnie
Giles could dish it out as well even though he was the midfield passing
lynchpin. But you couldn’t say the rest
of the team were dirty. Gary Sprake and
then David Harvey (now why when I think of him does he look like Dave Hill out
of Slade?) Terry Cooper (loved him), Paul Madeley and Paul Reaney, Eddie Gray and Peter Lorimer (reputed, to us
kids, to have the most powerful shot in the game. How and why did we know that?) and finally
Mick Jones and Alan Clarke. I loved them
all even thought they weren’t my team.
Anyway, back to
players I remember. Pat Jennings big hands big kick, Gordon Banks and his
understudy Peter Shilton. Very strange,
all goalkeepers, made you feel safe and secure, with any of them in goals, all
was well.
Defenders. Of course, Bobby Moore, the rock of
Midfield. Well there was this whole procession of
midfielders who were never chosen for England much, Stan Bowles, Duncan
McKenzie, Tony Curry, Alan Hudson, Rodney Marsh, and of course Frank Worthington (a forward). Of course I hated that lank haired prick
Charlie George and his goal against
Forwards. A few come to mind. Ian St John, Alan Gilzean, Peter Osgood, Joe
Royle, Geoff Hurst, Derek Dougan, Jimmy Greaves (I don’t remember Jimmy Greaves
that well).
My memories of
many footballers had as much to do with their football cards I collected as
their performance on the pitch.
So if the had an
unusual name like Alan Gilzean, I was as likely to remember them as say Roger
Hunt.
Or an article in
a football annual. Martin Chivers “Am I
worth £125,00?” No.
Nowadays it’s
wall to wall football.
But then as a kid
you really had to work at it with the football cards and Match of the Day and
The Big Match, and Goal and Shoot magazine.
At the end of the
day there was only one football hero.
Georgie Best.
He had it
all. The skill, the speed, the stamina,
the tackle, the confidence, the good team, the money, the cars, the women, the
boutiques, and of course the flash modern design house in Bramhall which people
used to drive past to look at.
I even have a set
of press photos of my Mum with George Best, but I’ve lost them.
Oh and my
daughter is called Georgia, Georgie for short!!
Since the dawn of
man, he has wanted to fly.
Here were some of
my attempts.
Various Kites
(Plastic, Rotating Wing Plane)
Balsa Wood models
with propeller and elastic band.
Plastic Plane
launched by elastic band
Paper Planes of
various design
Rocket with
parachute, launch by powerful elastic which you stood on
Sycamore
Helicopters
Setting fire to a
piece of newspaper and watching the remains float into the air
Fireworks of
course
Fairground
rockets simulating flight
Going on holiday
with my parents to
Swing
Swing rope on
tree
Dreaming about
it.
Actually, most of
my adult life I’ve had a recurring dream of being in my back garden in
It’s a curious
thing being a child of the 60s, in relation to World War II
It’s hard to
believe I was born only 16 years after the end of World War II, and as a child it seemed such a distant
thing.
And yet there
were plenty of things still there to remind us.
My parents of
course. My Mum who came over as a
refugee from
My Dad who fought
in the war and was a prisoner of war.
All our
Yesterdays on TV.
Many War
Movies/Films.
Many toy guns and
model aircraft.
Some anti German
chants (which even now are part of football).
The combination
of innocence and horror was best summed up by me claiming to be a member of the SS club.
My Mum was
horrified until she realised it was Secret Sam my attaché briefcase spy gun
camera thing.
She had to
explain to me why it was a good idea not to go around claiming to be a member
of the SS!
The big
difference between the 60s and 40s/50s is that the 60s was in bright
Technicolor and the previous 2 decades were in black and white, almost 2
dimensional, not real.
Whilst I
remember, did people in the 1910s and 1920s really live in Black and White and
walk round very fast, blink fast, and be silent with tinkly piano music in the
background, and crash cars a lot?
My family and I
are not gardeners.
My dad
occasionally mowed the lawn, but in the end gave up and paid gardeners to do
the garden.
Consequently, my contribution
to gardening as a child was growing a few radishes and carrots at the bottom of
the garden.
I may have once
picked up a hoe, garden rake, spade, etc, I know what they look like but not
what they do.
Mowed the lawn a
few times.
Errr, that’s it!
As kids we went
to bed early.
I have no idea
what time we went to bed but I do know that when the Rag and Bone man went past
the school, everyone started singing the theme tune from Steptoe and Son, and I
didn’t know what it was, so I must have been in bed before Steptoe and Son!
We never made a
fuss about going to bed either, just seemed the natural thing to do.
Mum would tuck us
in and sing Daisy, or My Grandfather’s Clock.
The one time as a
kid I stayed up late was until 10-00pm when I had Chicken Pox.
It’s 10-20 pm
now, and I feel like I have Chicken Pox
or something right now.
Arm Wrestling
Conkers
Biggest bubble
gum bubble
Pissing up the
toilet wall
Racing round the
block on our bikes
Stone Throwing
Stone Skimming
Stone Aiming
Pipe Walking
Football keep
uppy
Football long
distance kicking
Football height
kicking
Gobbing
Tree Climbing
Door
Most stupid or
obvious place to hide for Kickstone 123 (Hide and Seek)
Medicine when we
were kids consisted of the following.
Disprin for
general things including headaches.
Cream and
Plasters for cuts.
Witch-hazel for
bruises.
Put your knees up
to tummy if you had stomach ache.
Calodril (pink
smelly stuff you dabbed on and didn’t work) for itchy spots.
TCP to clean cuts
and bruises, stung like hell.
Benolyn for
coughs.
Mushied (mashed)
up Bananas, Sugar and Milk for illness food.
Horrible
thermometer in mouth for taking temperature.
Dad feeling your
neck for swollen glands.
Mum holding your
head whilst being sick.
Dad’s sunglasses
for measles on the eyes.
Mum digging out
splinters with a needle telling us it wouldn’t hurt and then it did.
That’s enough
medicine for today.
My repertoire was
always very limited.
Do you go to bed
with Tony Chestnut?
Of course you do
Toe Knee Chest Nut. Ha Ha.
Creating two
horns from my bottom lip.
Curling my tongue
Moving my scalp
and ears.
Doing a Spock
split finger greeting.
Bending just my
little finger.
Patting head and
rubbing stomach. Or it the other way
round.
Later I mastered
rotating one hand clockwise and the other anticlockwise.
And catching a pencil
which someone drops with my hand above the pencil
None of this
finger bending or double jointed stuff.
Nor stomach
waves.
Nor licking your
nose
Nor long distance
gobbing (spitting)
Nor even touching
my toes.
Never even been
able to do that.
Just going to a
40th Birthday Party tonight, not as exciting as going to birthday
parties when you’re a kid.
Jelly, cake,
crisps, sweets.
Pass the Parcel ,
Musical Statues, Musical Chairs.
Birthday Cake
Going Home
Present.
That’s it. How exciting (as a kid!).
Back to my roots,
I’m going back to my roots.
Living in the
countryside on the edge of the
was my nature
reserve and education.
Grasses, Oak
Trees, Sycamore Trees, Beech Trees, Horsechestnut Trees.
Fern, Holly Bush,
Blackberry Bush, Hawthorn Bush
Dandelions,
Daisies,
Nettles, Dock
Leaves, Thistles
Foxgloves,
Primroses, Wild Roses (Pink)
Listen, you’re
reading an expert here, who came first 2 years running in the Handforth CofE
flower arranging contest!!
My Mum showed me
what to do, I did it. Hey Presto first
twice!!
The secret of my
success - Pink Wild Roses and Yellow Primroses picked from The Valley.
Something I was
proud of then. I’m not sure later on I
would admit to my flower arranging success.
But I’m proud
again now. I’m coming out about my
flower arranging.
And also
beautiful butterflies, mainly white, but the occasional Red Admiral, and once a
Peacock Butterfly.
For someone who
played sport and threw stones, I’m surprised writing this how much I know and
knew of The Valley’s flora (and fauna).
Mmmm The Sound of
Music and now Flower Arranging. What’s
going on?
What was my
concept of God as a child?
Simple.
For some strange
reason I’ve always seen God as being Nelson on top of Nelson’s column!
Writing about
yesterday “What do you want to be when you grow up?” set me thinking about my
Mum and Dad.
They were great,
nothing but encouragement, and they never pushed me into anything, just
encouragement.
However! I’ve just thought about it again and realise
that one of Dad’s sayings was,
“Become an
accountant and the world is your oyster.”
And now I realise
what a terrible childhood I had.
My Dad wanted me
to become an Accountant and he thought accountancy was the thing to aspire to!!
Is that all he
thought of me. Accountant. My son the Accountant.
Is that what he
aspired to??
I get what he
meant though. Though he was good at most
subjects, academia wasn’t his thing. He
was more practical. Business.
He says he failed
his matriculation with French.
Which I can
understand, I was crap at languages myself, even though my Mum’s family
conversed in German and French!
He saw several of
his friends qualify as Chartered Accountants and go on to be successful.
It wasn’t his
thing though and it certainly wasn’t mine.
Actually it was
just his hot tip. He never forced me
into anything. Just wanted what was best
for me.
So what did I
become. An I.T Salesman. Perhaps you were right Dad!
One of the most
common asked questions of kids.
And the usual
answers were,
Footballer
Astronaut
Steam Engine
Driver
Mine of course
was initially “Don’t Know” or “Footballer”
And then one day,
I noticed a wooden statue, at a neighbours house, and it set me thinking about
how it was created.
So for a while,
my standard answer to,
“What do you want
to be when you grow up?”
was
“A Wood
Carver!!!”
My Mum in order
to encourage this new found ambition, and lord knows our family didn’t have an
arty cell in our bodies, started explaining what marquetry was.
And bought me a
kid marquetry set (N.B Even the bloody spell checker has never heard of
“Marquetry”).
That put paid to
any ideas I had of wood carving.
In fact if you
ever saw my attempts at woodwork later on at senior school, I swear you would
collapse with laughter.
Even Mr Hollows
our very serious woodwork teacher somehow had a smirk on his face when coming
across my woody creations.
If you ever saw
my attempt at a bird table, which looked like a few bits of wood randomly
nailed together, and then painted white to disguise how bad it was.
No bird ever
landed on my bird table that I know of.
Hardly surprising
since it was all roof and no table.
Like trying to
land your jet fighter on a rickshaw pretending to be a white aircraft carrier.
Me and wood just
didn’t get on.
How did I get on
to woodwork?
The simple
solution to the question is to never grow up!!
My Dad, being a
Dad would occasionally buy or bring home from work a new (or old) gadget.
He was never a
big one for gadgets but occasionally he’d really pull the rabbit out of the
hat.
They all tended
to be some kind of calculating machine.
He used to bring
home a grey heavy calculator with a big black bar, a handle, and lot of keys
you pressed in for the calculation. It was the size of a typewriter and weighed
a ton. In fact it looked a bit like an
old typewriter.
His best purchase
though was his first electronic calculator.
Desktop, plug in, green lit diodes, white facia. What’s always amused me was that he paid over
£100 which was a lot of money at the time,
and it couldn’t even subtract! To
calculate 10-5 you had to type 10+ -5. I
think I’m right about that. I must find
pictures on the Internet of these miracle machines.
My favourite of
course was Dad’s ATCO petrol mower. I
couldn’t wait to get me hands on it as a kid.
I when he eventually let me, it was terrifying to drive. When I say drive, you stood behind, released
the clutch/brake, and hung on for dear life.
Only a few accidents in the garden!
Non of these new
fangled orange hover mowers that started to come out.
53 (Herbie of
course!)
6 (I am not a
number)
25 (
3 (Blind Mice)
101 (Dalmatians)
1001 (Carpet
Cleaner)
1 (God)
9 (Centre
Forward)
10 (Green
Bottles)
3 (Kings of
Orient are)
90 (Joe)
99 (Whipped Ice
Cream with Flake)
And finally
52. When we were learning our
multiplication tables we had to go home and fill in the results of the next
multiplication table we were about to learn.
Unfortunately I
filled in 6x9 = 52, just a minor miscalculation. Consequently I taught myself that six nines
are fifty two. It was the following day
that I learnt of my error but too late, and even to this day I still hesitate
on 6x9 or 9x6. I have to remind myself
that all results of 9 as the multiplier add up to nine. Did you know that!
Nowadays it’s
even worse. I’ve always been good with
numbers but I reckon mildly dyslexic, so when it comes to filling in cheques, I
always struggle with writing numbers in words especially the number four which
I always want to write as 4our!!
The Wizard of Oz
is just on the telly.
Never my
favourite but I did say the other day that I was sure scared of that wicked
witch of the west.
And I just saw
her with her green face. Scary.
It set me
thinking about the other films from my childhood.
Of course my
favourite was The Sound of Music which I’ve already written about, but what
were my other favourites and the ones I remember?
You Only Live
Twice (I was too young to understand it when I saw it)
Disney – Snow
White and The Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella, Jungle Book, Aristocats, Bedknobs and
Broomsticks, Mary Poppins, Pinocchio, Dumbo, Bambi, Peter Pan, 101 Dalmatians,
Chitty Chitty
Bang Bang
Kes
Batman
Dad’s Army, On
the Buses, Please Sir and lots more British TV comedies made into films. They were all awful.
Carry On Films
Doctor in the
House films
Of course there
were also the films on the telly
Norman Wisdom
Danny Kaye
Old Films Laurel
and Hardy, Charlie Chaplin. I’ll think
of a few more at a later stage, maybe split this whole subject into early
stuff, Disney, Brit Comedy etc.
Oh no, I
shouldn’t have gone down this path because there’s too many films to
remember. Let’s just go for my absolute
favourites from the ones I can remember;
Ok, that’s it, I
give in for the time being, I’m coming back to this one for some more
research. The problem is I keep surfing
too much on the Internet to put this one together.
I’ll be back!!
A few stupid things I did as a kid, which looking back, and even at the time seemed very stupid.
The Link
Cycling from
I’ll never do
that again!
Boy in a Suitcase
I’ve talked about
this one before but it’s worth a mention again.
I climbed into a suitcase, my sister locked it but didn’t know how to
open it. Close shave.
I’ll never do
that again!
Water Pistol at a light
Sitting in the
bath and firing my water pistol at the 2 heater lamps above me. BANG.
I didn’t know of the cooling effect of water on a hot bulb!
I’ll never do
that again!
Coiled Wire
In my teens we
had a coil of wire we used as an extension.
It was wound on the circular thing it came on. I ran a few items off the 4 way plug attached
to the extension. What I didn’t know is
that if you leave the wire coiled it heats up.
And my oh my did it heat up. The
wire was on the point of melting, and the house was on the point of burning!
I’ll never do
that again!
Long Jump
Given that we
didn’t have a 50m running tracking and sand pit for Long Jump, I thought I’d
break my fall by doing Long Jump on to a foam mat placed on our garden. The only thing I hadn’t calculated was that
the foam on the grass was very slippery.
I took a run up jumped on to the mat which slid along the grass and I
banged the back of my head, got up, felt “a bit sleepy” went upstairs to bed,
fell asleep, woke up several hours later and I’d lost my short term
memory. I didn’t know what year it was!!
I’ll never do
that again!
Bike Jumping
It’s all well and
good cycling up a ramp from the road onto the pavement, but you need to know
what to do when you’re launched into mid-air.
I didn’t, and I fell heavily. The
consequence of this one is that when I ski or snowboard, you have never seen
anything so pathetic as me attempting to ‘jump” by lifting my ski just 1mm off
the snow. Pathetic scaredy cat.
I’ll never do
that again!
Throwing Stones through Water
It was bit like
playing Paper Scissor Stone, but in real life. Jamie Marsden was spraying me
with water from a hose pipe, so I threw a stone at him. Now stone cuts through water like Scissor
beats Paper. CLUNK right on Jamie’s
forehead with a big stone I’d thrown hard.
I’ll never do
that again!
Electricity
Actually I don’t
have one to tell about any scrapes with electricity. It was the one thing my Mum was very strict
about. It seemed to pay off. Not one electricity accident, thank God. My Dad did once demonstrate his “magic
screwdriver” which had a fuse in it which glowed when pressed against one of
the live or neutral prongs of a half plugged in plug. Unfortunately his excellent demo went wrong
when he touched both the prongs with the screwdriver. BANG.
One melted screwdriver, and if my dad got a shock he didn’t show
it!! He’ll never do that again!
Fire
Again, I don’t
know how I didn’t have an accident with fire.
Like many boys, a fatal fascination with fire, from throwing things onto
the fire we sometimes had burning in our modern 60s home, to playing with
matches, to experimenting with fireworks in jars and cow dung!
I’ll never do
that again!
Putting Hand on Hot Stove
“Mum when’s
dinner ready?”
“Anthony, it will
be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’m hungry, I
want something now!” (This has been a common theme all my life)
“It will be ready
soon, now don’t touch the (electric) ring it’s still hot!”
Well I’m hungry
and bored, so what did I do? Of course I
put my hand on to the electric ring.
There was a
hissing noise of my skin burning on the ring.
I pulled it off fairly quickly.
Took a look at my
hand which now had a brownish tinge on all those parts of your palm that are
slightly raised.
I took one look
and of course burst into a screaming fit. It was more the shock of seeing my
hand brown than the actual pain.
I’ll never do
that again!
ps My Mum just
said, “That’s one smell I’ll never forget.”
Thumping Mark Fitton and missing
Mark Fitton
called my latest haircut a “Poodle Perm” so I thumped him in the arm, except I
missed and hit the wall, and broke my hand.
I’ll never do that again!
Taking things apart and not knowing how to
put them back together
This is more a
general boy/man thing of taking things apart and not knowing or remembering how
to put them back together again.
I’ll never do
that again!
Angle Poise
And finally, this
wasn’t in my childhood but still worth a mention.
Batchelor
pad. Batchelor (me) entertaining! My bedroom at the time had 2 single beds set
in an L-shape.
I didn’t have the
right lighting for a romantic evening, so I balanced an Angle Poise lamp on one
of the beds, and to dim the lighting pushed the lamp head so that it was just
above the duvet cover. I went back to
the lounge to entertain the lucky woman with the vain hope that maybe just
maybe for once I may get lucky!
Half an hour
later, I think it was Debbie (of course there were so many), said,
“What’s that
burning smell?”
“Yes, there is a
burning smell, and it’s getting stronger.”
I dashed
downstairs (my bedroom was downstairs and my lounge was upstairs) to find that
the Angle Poise lamp had tipped forward and had burnt a nice neat hole through
the duvet cover and was now on its way for the mattress. Good job that that duvet was flame retardant
so I now had a duvet cover with perfect round hole in it (strangely enough the
exact circumference of an Angle Poise lamp), and a flat still intact that
hadn’t burnt down. It was a close thing
though.
I’ll never do
that again!
I’ve done fear,
but who was I scared of?
Looking back, not
that much. You generally needed to stay
away from places you thought there may be trouble, play with kids of your own
age and avoid older kids unless they seemed harmless, don’t do anything too
naughty at school, and hide behind the sofa if anything was too scary on telly.
Most of the rest
your parents could handle for you.
Mind you, I
remember walking back home one day with my sister, and 2 teenage girls started
talking to us and then said they weren’t going to let us go. I didn’t know what to do. Do I stay with my younger sister, or do I run
and get help.
I ran (typical!!)
and got help.
By the time I’d
got home (5 mins) and told my Mum and Dad, and my Dad got in the car, my sister
was walking home.
The girls had got
bored and “released” her.
I was told off
for leaving my sister.
But I’m not sure
even now, if it was best to stay with my sister, or go and get help.
A few more smells
to add to the previous Smells.
Plasticine
Play Dough
Wax Crayons
Airfix Glue
Bostick Glue
Roast Meat
Coconut Oil
Now singing to
Of course there
were the usual, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Hickory Dickory Dock, the more 3 D
This Little Piggy Went To Market. The
educational Incy Wincy Spider, and the over the top Oat and Beans and Barley
Grows.
My sister seemed
to be more into Rhymes and Songs than me, as well as those strange skipping
rhymes which I’m not going into here!
I moved quite
quickly into Sport, Maths, Science to escape the scourge of words and Nursery
Rhymes, only slowing down later in my teens for Music and Lyrics and Cat
Stevens.
I suppose Rhymes
are for five and under when you’re less likely to remember them.
I struggle now to
come up with an acceptable list of 5 to 10 to sing or say to
My current
favourite with
I’m becoming as
bad as my Mum was with me.
I remember Aprils
Fool’s Day being one of the highlights of the year, but I can’t remember any
Aprils Fools pranks played in my childhood.
The best I can
think of to put in for today, is that Chris Evans was once asked if he minded
what critics said. His reply was
something like this;
“Look at me. I have ginger hair and I wear spectacles. My father left us when I was young, and to cap
it all, I was born on April 1st.
After what I went through in the playground, do you think I really care
nowadays what critics say?”
Funny, but I
always remember that Chris Evans is born on April 1st.