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.
Rimmer
Shit in May 2002: I Double Dare Ya!, John Noakes, Paddling Pool,
Swimming, Spit Wash, Play-Doh, Toilet Training, Gravy and Custard, Kids’
Clothes, Watches, All Right, Meriton Rd Park, Cartoon Characters, School
Dinners, Horrible Food, Bank Account, Early Development, Sporting
Disappointment, The Rex Cinema, Pet Hates, Interlude, Art, The Golf Biscuit,
The Bells, Australia, The Queen.
Rimmer
Shit in June 2002: World Cup final, Rolf Harris, Struggling, Carpets,
How Green was My Valley?, Fishing in Jersey!, The Death of Twitcher, Valley
Sledging, Brazil, See Saw, The Sandpit, Chess, Building Bricks, Father Christmas,
Marta’s Arse, Picture Essay Question, The Garage Door, 70s Décor Car, 60s Décor
Kitchen, Anthony, come down and say hello, It’s a Knockout, Mum, I’m bored,
Belle Vue, Café Royale Berni Inn, Blackpool, Kick Anything, Kid Heroes.
Rimmer
Shit in July 2002: Writer’s Block, The Nit Nurse, The Doctor, The
Dentist, Skippy.
Rimmer
Shit in August 2002: Man United v Sunderland, Holiday Luxury,
Complaining Mothers, What was Gay?, Rude Words, Southport, Mummy’s taking us to
The Zoo tomorrow, Matey Bubble Bath, Still Nothing, Writer’s Block still in
August with this one.
Rimmer
Shit in September 2002: Smell
not Voice, Your Dad, Cup Finals, First Sea Trip, First Sea
Dip, Things you can’t eat when
you’re a grown-up, Before Reading,
Balloons, Swings, America, Yom Kippur, Leeds United, Marks and
Spence Butter Pop-Corn, Tragedy,
Comedy, Badedas, Posh People, Tennis Heroes, The Green Green Grass of Home, Bullying,
Teenage Worship, Fathers Days.
Rimmer Shit in Oct
2002: Halloween,
Conkers, The Home
Championship, Obsession
and Routine, Walking and Kissing, The Ice Cream Van, Goodies and
Baddies, Our Dining Room Table, Mom’s Apple Pie, Mini Rolls, Other
Musical Instruments, The Piano Player, New Toy, Man Utd Red, Balls, Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll, Bath Time, Nose Picking!,
New
Present Excitement, Alexandra Bastedo Part II, Good Teachers,
The day I grew up,
Physics
teachers let me down, Merry go Round,
Thursday 31st October 2002
I don’t remember
that much of Halloween as a kid, I was too excited about bonfire night on 5th
November to worry too much about witches.
I guess there was
a bit of dressing up, but no trick or treat, that came later, copied of course
from those Americans.
It was just
another night for gathering firewood for the fire and checking how big the
communal bonfire was coming along in The Play Area, and our bonfire if we were
having one that year.
Also the
excitement of fireworks was gathering pace so very little time for Witches.
Wednesday 30th October 2002
I can’t remember
if I’ve written about this one, but seeing a programme the other night on weird
British eccentricities like the World Conker Championships reminded me of the
excitement of Conkers.
Either gathering
horsechestnuts or throwing sticks at the trees to gain access to the smooth or
spiky shells containing dark treasure.
A monster conker.
Putting a hole
through the conker and then threading the string ready to fight.
Find opponent and
thrash his conker to death.
It sure hurt when
the strings tangled.
Like a good golf
drive, when you connected with your swing and hit the other boy’s conker and it
smashed to pieces, WoW!
Knowing which
trees to go for and where very few other people knew about. That was the skill.
I did try baking
and soaking the conkers in vinegar but nothing seemed to work that well.
Best to find a
good hard medium size conker, make sure you didn’t damage it putting a hole in
it, make sure there were enough knots and then ready to go.
The excitement of
coming across freshly fallen horsechestnut, the hidden treasures. It was like a currency to trade with.
Of course the
best conker I ever came across was a small shrivelled bit of innards which some
else had and seemed unbreakable. Damn.
The whole
mystique of conkers was ruined a bit when my Mum bought me and my sister two
plastic conkers with detachable bits coloured yellow and red.
So we could play
and reassemble them. It just want’ the
real thing though.
Tuesday 29th October 2002
Just picking my
all time England team, and what I’m reminded of is most exciting sporting event
of my childhood, maybe even more than the F.A Cup –
The Home
Championship.
The four home
countries, England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, battling it out at the
end of the season.
Most of the top
players in country played and the England v Scotland game was the highlight,
though the other games were great to watch.
Why did it
stop? I just don’t know why.
We’re the
spectators; we’re the paying and watching public. It’s for us.
We still want it.
True international
competition.
More exciting
than this European Champions League shit.
Bring it back
please.
The floodlights
for the mid week games, the blaze of white shirts and blue shirts, permy hair
cuts, big fouls, beating Scotland (but not always) on the Saturday.
Just so exciting.
Monday 28th October 2002
It’s amazing to
notice that a one year old has her obsessions and routines already starting.
Georgia follows
some very set patterns in each of the rooms she’s in.
Right now, she has
to touch the door knob after her bath.
She has to test
out the swivel chairs in my office, and in her room.
She has to swing
them round herself.
She has to take
off the rubber door protectors.
All tissues in
boxes must be destroyed.
The farmer is not
allowed to sit on the tractor.
All things built
must be destroyed and levelled.
All things on
sofas and tables must be pulled off if reachable.
A one year old
had already settled for her favourite TV viewing positions.
I realise now
that most of my behaviour as a child was already set in stone from aged 1!
Sunday 27th October 2002
The more time
goes on the more I’m finding myself writing about my daughter’s childhood and
not mine.
Today she’s
really started walking, and this afternoon she’s kissing.
She’s not walking
and kissing.
What more do you
need for a good start in life!!
Thursday 24th October 2002
I only have to
hear that distant tinkle of Greensleeves and I start to salivate like Pavlov’s
Dogs.
It means the ice
cream van is coming and there is nothing more exciting as a kid to scramble
round the house looking for money or begging Mum for money in order to buy and
ice cream before the van goes.
It’s like a
moving treasure chest. Ice Lollies,
Choc-Ices, but best of all, whipped ice cream, and even better a 99
Why is it called
a 99?
Whipped ice cream
on a cone with a chocolate flake in dipped in it, lashed with red syrup.
There’s nothing
like it or as nutritious as a fully loaded 99 (this one is
close but it’s not whipped ice cream)
Of course,
finding the photo reminded me that you also got a wafer with the ice cream as
well
Wednesday 23rd October 2002
A 6-10 year olds perspective
|
Goodies |
Baddies |
|
Cowboys anyone wearing
white The Queen America Blue Peter The Goodies Man Utd England The estate I
lived on Mummy Lollipop Ladies Sweet Shops Toy Shops Salt Even Numbers Paving Stones Football Anything
Strawberry flavoured Ice Cream Chocolate Scooby Doo Water Pistols Troy Tempest The Doctor |
Indians anyone wearing
black Hippies Germans Magpie The Weather All Italian
Teams Germany other estates Mummies Dinner Ladies Clothes Shops Shoe Shops Pepper Odd Numbers Cracks in
Paving Stones Rugby Anything
Raspberry flavoured Green beans Carrots Dick Dastardly Anyone with an
air-rifle (except me) The Hood The Dentist |
I must add some
more soon.
Tuesday 22nd October 2002
Something reassuring about our dining room table.
It was big and sliding.
Slid open to make even bigger.
Surrounded by 6 white leather high back chairs.
Very 60s. I
can’t believe we had white leather chairs.
It seemed normal for us at the time and very
comfortable.
I don’t know how my parents let young kids loose on
white leather chairs, but I can’ remember us ever damaging or staining them.
The chairs were not very good for leaning back on
which I’ve always loved to do.
I can just picture it now, Dad at the head of the
table, Mum bringing food in from the kitchen and me and my sister goggling the
telly.
Ah nuclear family life.
Monday 21st October 2002
Don’t all Mums
make some form of Apple Pie?
Mine was no
different.
Hers has thick
crumbly pastry, in a round bowl, apples (of course), raisins (not to everyone’s
taste), and her speciality, more cinnamon than Apple!
At least that’s
what it tasted like. I loved it, topped
of course with a sprinkle of sugar.
Thinking about
it, the apples content was pretty generous as well.
Thinking about it
the pastry was great.
So all in all
Mum’s Apple Pie was great all round, just like Mom’s Apple Pie.
Sunday 20th October 2002
Just saw some
Cadbury’s Mini Rolls in the supermarket.
Mmmm, that takes
me back.
Gold foil to play with.
And then that delicious chocolate and sponge and
cream.
Nothing better than gorging yourself as a kid on 2 or
3 Mini Rolls.
Friday 18th October 2002
And of course
there was an array of other musical toys and instruments from our childhood.
The deadly
sounding recorder. The shrill note of
the recorder. My sister attempting to
play, “Go and tell Aunt Nancy”.
Various
harmonicas, kazoos, party streamers, a xylophone with elastic bands with discs
suspended over it.
You pulled the
elastic band which struck the xylophone.
I liked that one.
Comb and paper,
only because we were told that’s what people in the olden days played. Gave it go.
Crap.
I got more noise
out of a blade of grass blown between my thumbs.
Whistle
sweets. I guess they were based on Toot
Sweets, Toot Sweets, the whistle you whistle the whistle you eat!
Thursday 17th October 2002
I came to
learning to play the piano quite late.
In fact so late,
I still can’t play the piano!
Our parents
bought us a piano when I was 8 or 9 and then I had lessons when I was 10, but I
gave up pretty quickly, the lessons were tedious and I didn’t practise and I
didn’t take to it, I just couldn’t read music.
I could understand what it was all about but reading it and playing it,
no way.
Having said that,
my older cousins taught us the simple duets to play, when we were much younger,
which I didn’t really count as learning to play, so in fact I can play about 3
pieces of music so it looks like I can play the piano, but I can’t.
I loved playing
with the piano from about aged 4 or 5, climbing up on the old smelly piano
stool with the lifting lid to put music in, and bashing the notes.
All the white
ones, and then all the black ones, and then all of them together, low ones,
high ones, pressing the pedals.
We looked forward
to going to our cousins in North Manchester because they had a piano and they’d
teach us simple tunes.
Now why did that
not feel like having to learn and we learnt, but having a piano teacher was
different. Boring.
It put me off
playing music. I wasn’t the sort who
practised and applied myself to something which just seemed too difficult.
And yet in my mid
teens, I took straight to the guitar, taught myself. Nothing very good, just a few chords, but
that seemed so much easier.
One chord, six
notes and lots of strumming or attempted finger picking!
I’d thought that
if you can’t play the piano you couldn’t play any other instrument because the
piano was the easiest to play, all the notes are there for you, you don’t have
to create them.
How wrong I was.
I wish someone
could have shown me how to play and learn intuitively without needing to read
music.
I say that
because, my 1 year old daughter has an 8 note xylophone, and I’ve been driving
my wife mad playing it.
Lily the
Pink! It works very well, and I’m amazed
at how quickly I intuitively get the notes right.
Shame I didn’t
know that as a kid.
Wednesday 16th October 2002
Nothing Today
Nothing today!
Tuesday 15th October 2002
Just got my
webcam working.
It’s the same
excitement as having your first camera as a kid when you want to take photos of
everyone and take the camera to bed, which is what I want to do with my webcam.
Come to think of
it, isn’t that a whole industry on the Internet!!
Sunday 13th October 2002
I’ve dreamt of
having and wearing a Man Utd shirt.
I’ve never had or
owned one.
My Mum bought me
a Man City kit in ’67.
Confession. I loved it.
But the first
game I was taken to was Man Utd.
And today someone
got out a replica kit of the 60’s.
Round neck, white
collar and cuffs. Magic.
It would be like
Superman putting on his gear.
That red
colour. It’s just right. Not too dark and quite bright.
Alas the Man Utd
Red has become darker over the years.
Why do they
fiddle with the very colour that is Man Utd?
Why is the design
of most Man Utd shirts so crap?
Why do the Leeds
and Arsenal shirt designs look cleaner?
Maybe I’m just
nostalgic for the 60s!
The City blue has
gone lighter over the years and only recently have the gone back to near the
original colour.
And the Everton
blue was darker.
I loved all those
colours. Man Utd Red (Georgie Best),
City Blue (Colin Bell), and Everton Blue (Alan Ball).
If City and
Everton went back to their original colour they’d have more success!
I must get my
football cards out!
Saturday 12th October 2002
Balls
Boules
Light Plastic
Football
Heavy leather
casey lace-up ball
Leather Panelled
football
Ping Pong Ball
Bouncy Rubber
Ball
Bowls
Tennis Balls
Heavy Plastic
Football
Mouse Trap Ball
Clicking Balls
Marbles
Metal Bagatelle
Balls
Subbuteo Ball
Blow Football
Ball
Table Football
Ball
Cricket Ball with
seam
Cricket Ball
without seam
I had lots of
Balls!
Friday 11th October 2002
So what’s a kid’s
view of the illegal stuff?
Alcohol. In a way it was the forbidden fruits but every
time I tried the stuff I hated it.
So it was the
combination of alcohol tasting terrible and rebelling, especially if a friend
led you astray.
But why do adults
drink this shit and enjoy it? It
certainly doesn’t quench your thirst.
Beer, too bitter,
Whisky horrible, Sherry weird, Gin, undrinkable.
Our parents'
drink cabinet was filled with these weird liquids.
We knew not to
try them and we never did, except with other kids parents’ drink cabinets.
It didn’t stop me
smelling them, but they smelled awful as well.
All this left was
kosher wine which if you’ve never tried it tastes a bit like sweet rotting
Ribena might taste.
So with our
Friday night kosher wine from as young as I can remember, alcohol never held a
mystery except to wonder why grown ups drank the stuff.
Cigarettes. Just curious really. Neither of my parents smoked.
My Dad had given
up just as I was born and the first results of the threat from smoking were
being published.
My Mum always
extolled the virtues of my Dad’s iron will for giving up smoking the day they
said it was bad for you.
That was enough
of an example for me to follow my Dad’s iron will. I never ever smoked, not even one drag.
That didn’t stop
a mystery pack of Capstan Extra Strength Unfiltered lying in the same cabinet
as the alcohol, but untouched for years.
I used to open
the cigarette packet occasionally just to check out the smell. The box smelt nice but the cigarettes didn’t.
Chocolate
cigarettes seemed to fix the craving!
Drugs. Well my Mum was such a good story teller
about the threats from LSD, believing you could fly and jumping off buildings
that, that did it for us, we had no interest in them.
And pot was what
Hippies smoked and they were weird.
I didn’t know
there were any other drugs.
Sex. Not a clue.
Rock and
Roll. Again we were protected from the
ravages of rock and roll, by Top of the Pops, The Beatles, and Radio
Caroline/1.
The BBC made sure
we never listened to or saw anything too dangerous, so how could we know it
existed?
The Rolling
Stones, and The Who were just rumours you heard about.
Not even Elvis
inhabited my world of the late 60s and early 70s, until our teacher and his 8
track Elvis cartridges.
Again my Mum saw
off any rock and roll threat with tales of Bill Haley and the Comets and ripping
up cinema seats.
I just couldn’t
see the connection between Rock Around the Clock and ripping up a seat.
So any potential
rebellion was quashed with motherly brainwashing and Auntie Beeb.
Thursday 10th October 2002
One of the
highlights of the day was bath time.
Playing in the
bath.
Matey Bubble
bath, lots of bubbles.
Firing a water
pistol whilst in the bath at the heater light and blowing it up (I only did
that once!), I didn’t know what happens but I found out.
Holding your
breath underwater.
Taking latest toy
into bath, be it Deep Sea Diver Action Man, and/or Snorkel, Mask and Flippers.
Practising
splashing techniques for maximum soaking when in swimming pool.
Firing water
pistol at anything in bathroom which doesn’t blow up.
Checking what
floats and what doesn’t float.
Loading as many
sinking things on to a floating thing until it sinks.
Dreaming one day
that I will be tall enough to lie in the bath with my feet keeping me from
sinking down.
Wednesday 9th October 2002
Never been a nail
biter, or scab picker (much), or spitter (gobber), or any of the other
revolting habits that kids have.
Except of course
a nose picker. Nothing like a good dig!
When did I learn
this great habit?
The reason I ask,
is my daughter aged 1 is showing great signs and potential for the habit so
unless she’s seen me having a secret dig; it must be in her genes.
Nature or Nurture
as they say!
Tuesday 8th October 2002
You know how when
you’re a kid you get excited when you get a new present.
The excitement is
so great you don’t know what to do with yourself or how to express it.
You want to take
it to bed and sleep with it! (I mean that non-sexually!!)
We bought a mini
sofa for my one year old daughter today.
I can’t believe
how even a 1 year old knows that they have a new present.
She was so
excited when we brought it home.
She sat on it,
climbed on it, sat on it, got off it, went to get some of her toys and put them
on the sofa, and sat with them on the sofa, with a beaming smile.
It’s amazing that
one so young is already displaying that “I’ve got a new toy/present level of
excitement.”
Monday 7th October 2002
Would you believe
that on my website stats the search that is producing the most hits on my
website is Alexandra Bastedo!
There’s clearly
something going on here and someone agrees with my childhood fantasy of me and
Alexandra, (or should I say Sharon Macready.
Not a high number
of searches but nevertheless the top search.
What’s even more
strange is that my site comes up on Google several pages into the search.
It must be her
magic Champion powers.
Sunday 6th October 2002
So who were the
good teachers in my childhood up until 11?
Handforth C of E.
Mrs Tyrer. My first two years and
probably my most informative.
She taught me to
read and write, and set my maths going.
I think she did a great job and I loved being in her class.
It seems to me
that those in her class, as opposed to the other stream got a good and better
start in life.
Am I imagining
this or is this the case?
I can’t remember
much about my class 3 teacher, when I was aged 7, but Mr Parker after that was
great, and he encouraged me and Stephen Taylor to go as far as we could in
maths, sometimes 4 years ahead of the average for our age.
Unfortunately,
playing to my strengths meant my English was beginning to suffer, but I don’t
think that was down to Mr Parker.
Greenbank. Geoff Atkinson. They say that as a male child one older male
has a key influence on you. Geoff
Atkinson was that man. He totally
inspired me, even in areas I wasn’t good at.
He allowed my
imagination to wander, he took the brunt of getting us through our exams in the
following year, his drawings and story-tellings inspired us, his encouragement of
chess playing, and his love of cars (and Elvis 8 Track cassettes) just set the
icing on the cake. For most of us he was
totally inspiring, though there was always one per year who got picked on.
And finally Mrs
Whincup. Nice lady, good teacher in our final
year at junior school.
She could have
over-disciplined us, she could have made our lives a misery, but she didn’t.
Thank you Mrs
Whincup for my most enjoyable year at school.
Stockport Grammar
School. Now, senior/grammar school was a different story.
The older I get
and the more I look back on my Stockport Grammar education the angrier I become
at the sheer waste.
Given that with
entrance exams and streaming they had so much raw talent, I think they largely
failed most of us. Partly because of the
education system having to bow to the demands of ‘O’ Levels and ‘A’ Levels, and
partly because the school was too old and steeped in the past.
Most of the
teachers were nice eccentrics, but I can count on one hand how many were
actually good and/or inspiring.
Maybe it was the
subjects, maybe it was the headmaster (who the older I get, the more and more I
like when I think about F.W Scott).
To think that we
didn’t start our ‘O’ Level syllabus until the fourth year of senior school, we
had 3 years to be inspired.
I felt as
inspired as paint that had already dried.
Now languages
were my worst subject so no teacher would have inspired me.
In the early
years, I fell backwards; no one looked after you academically or kept an eye on
you.
Come to think of
it we probably had the three worst and most unsuitable first year, form masters
(teachers).
Maths, Chemistry,
Biology, Physics, my best subjects but no inspiration there.
Art, Woodwork,
Music, forget it.
And Religious
Knowledge? Totally Dull.
History, absolute
tedium. I just couldn’t understand it
with history and yet now I realise it had the most potential, ruined by crap
teachers and shit notes.
Geography was the
same.
But once in a
blue moon there was a gem.
Doc Martin in
Chemistry. He loved his subject, he
inspired some (not all of us), and it was done with good humour and good
teaching.
JED Durnall. Well if you’re going to teach by numbers you
might as well be good at it. No Humour,
Total Fear, You do it my way, My Way works.
And it did.
The complete
opposite of Doc Martin and yet it worked.
Geography was a terrifying ordeal of memory techniques with JED Durnall,
but it worked, somehow.
Jimmy Swallow
would have been good if I didn’t have exams to take.
Mr (Boot) Herman,
Mr (AP Happy) Smith and Frankie Norris at least made my sufferance of languages
somewhat enjoyable, and Harry (Rat) Robinson was entertaining with his bark
worse than his bite.
Mr Gowan in
English at least seemed like a modern teacher, but I look at my ability to
write now, and it was no thanks to any English teacher.
The rest? Forget them.
I can’t even or don’t want to remember the rest. Except of course “The” Biology lesson with Mr
Wright.
I guess most of
the teachers though teaching was giving us their notes which they read out and
we wrote down.
End of lesson.
Thursday 3rd October 2002
August 1979. I’d just got my ‘A’
Level results, low grades, not good enough for the course I’d chosen.
Excuses, too much tennis, no application or concentration (my Dad had
died 18 months before, not that the school ever acknowledged that), too stupid,
lazy (that’s a great label a school or some parents give you if you don’t fit
in), etc etc. Anyway, I’d survived all
that, and discovered recently I’m probably dyslexic. And on top of that, when I got to university
I realised that concepts I’d struggled with at school, like simple harmonic
motion, resonance and beats, particles and waves, were just down to either my
brain changing at 18 or the teaching at school being crap for me. At 18+ I got it. Largely because I learnt how these things
worked because I was interested in them and struggled at school to write
quickly enough to take the notes.
Anyway, back to the ‘A’ Level results.
We put our destiny in the hands of teachers who we assume know what
they’re doing. So I went into school to
see the teacher (physics again). He
suggested I go through clearing, which is the mop up for students not getting
the grades and going to courses that haven’t been filled up for the year. That meant I probably wouldn’t do the course
I wanted to do. Or I could try for
Polytechnic (seen at the time as a poor man’s University) and do the course I
wanted with the lower grades.
So the teacher recommends I chose the course I want at Polytechnic and
he’ll call them up there and then.
We agreed on Business Studies at Lanchester (Coventry) Polytechnic.
He calls them up.
“Hello, I’ve got a student here who’s got lower grades than he expected,
and hasn’t made it to the University he wants, would you be interested in
taking him!”
And at that moment, aged 18, I grew up.
I realised that this teacher was an incompetent arsehole who only knew
how to deal with the top students, the elite, and not the likes of me, and that
I realised was the case with all the Physics teachers. The only taught the clever ones sitting at
the front; they set the pace for the clever ones sitting at the front. I say clever ones, but I mean those who were
receptive to the teacher’s style of teaching.
This teacher was effectively telling Lanchester Polytechnic that this
student with his low grades didn’t really want to do their course, but because
my grades were too low for the elite University he was lowering his standards
to begrudgingly go to Lanchester. What
do you think they said? No!
This teacher called a few more polytechnics, using the same approach and
of course the answer was no.
So that was it. On the scrap
heap. Retakes at the same school if they
would have me or on to college for retakes or a lower level education than a
degree.
I don’t know what made me do it or what God like voices or inspiration
told me or guided me to do it, but I went down to my local careers office.
In that 1 hour my life changed. I
must track the guy there down one day and thank him.
“Hello Tony, what seems to be the problem?…….well Tony the grades you
have are perfectly acceptable and you have 4 ‘A’ Levels which is more than most
people have in the country! What course
would you like to do and where would you like to go?”
This guy was like a travel agent offering me free tickets to anywhere in
the world.
“You want to do Business Studies?
Doesn’t everyone, Tony! The
secret here Tony is to choose a course which is Business Studies but doesn’t
have Business Studies in the name!” He
showed me the types of courses that were like that at the Universities and
Polytechnics. They looked great and most
of them were slightly technical with a sandwich placement, just what I was looking
for.
“Here’s how it works Tony.
Universities and Polytechnics are desperate to fill their courses,
otherwise they don’t get their full grant/funding for the following year, so
the ones which don’t have names like Business Studies where the demand is high,
are very keen to take on students who meet their minimum criteria. Which one do
you want Tony?”
And in a blinding flash I realised that I’d looked at a course 2 years
previously with careers advice at school.
Industrial Technology and Management at Bradford University.
“I’ll call them now Tony.”
You can’t do that, the school rules say you have to go through
clearing. You can’t call a University
directly! I’d been brainwashed by my
school to be a good obedient little pupil.
“Tony, this is how the real world works.
The Universities of course support clearing, but if your course ain’t
getting filled from clearing, you may use other means to make sure you fill
your course!”
He called them.
“Hello, I have a student here who wants to do your course, he has these 4
‘A’ Levels with these grades, do you want him? OK.”
He puts the phone down.
“Tony, you’re in, starting next year, no interview!”
That day was my greatest education of all in life. Anything is possible no matter what the circumstances
and what authority tells you.
The friend I shared accommodation with for 4 years when I got to
Bradford, also got in on the same course with no interview. He was a twin, and they’d interviewed his
brother who didn’t get any grades, so they guessed what’s good enough for one
twin in interview would be ok for the other twin!!
My Mum contacted my school to tell them I’d got into University.
They went absolutely ballistic.
How dare I not go through them and by-pass the system. How dare I embarrass the school. This was no way to behave.
They insisted on finalising my placement at Bradford and clearly wanted
to take credit for placing another student.
It looked good on their books!
When the crunch came, school let me down.
Wednesday 2nd October 2002
I don’t know what it was about my physics teachers at school, but collectively they were the most incompetent bunch of fuckwits I’ve ever known.
Not only did the one from yesterday screw up my University and
Polytechnic education in 10 minutes, but check these following two other
physics teachers out.
My Mum goes to parents evening with me in my third year.
She asked my physics teacher why I finished top in the second year and
nearly bottom in the third year.
Do you know what the teacher said to her?
“Perhaps he was lucky last year!”
This teacher years later selected me to represent Cheshire and North of
England, as an U15 lacrosse goalkeeper, he being the current England goalkeeper
at the time.
At 16 my Dad died, the week he died I didn’t play for our first XI
team. Another player took my place, and
I never played for the first XI again, they effectively dropped me because my
Dad had died. They put this goalkeeper
forward for the U18 trial 18 months later, but I was told I could also have a
trial. I was in London the previous day,
so I drove up overnight to make it for the trial. I turned up.
The same teacher (who was now at another school) who selected me to play
for the North of England at U15 level, and in all reality if we’d had another
country to play, I would have been the England U15 goalkeeper (they told me
that when we played the South of England and drew 3-3), now refused to let me
have a trial because it was one player per school. I think he made that one up on seeing me turn
up for the trial.
I tried to reason with him. At
least give me a trial. I was the U15
goalkeeper, and I made it from Cheshire into the North of England team (and he
knew I would have been the England goalkeeper because he was the one who told
me I had a good game at the time and he was one of the current England
goalkeepers). Just give me a chance to
prove myself. If I’m no good in the
trial then don’t pick me. No, one per
team. But I’ve just driven up from
London overnight for this trial. No, one
per team.
I left close to tears
Vaughan Wilcox you’re an arsehole.
You told my mum that it was luck I came top in the second year at
Physics, and you refused to let my have an U18 trial even though it was you who
chose me at U15 level. I seem to
remember that another one of my fellow players who at school drifted between
the first and second XI was the one who made it into the Cheshire team against
the expectations of those more favoured.
And finally, my all time favourite story of me at school.
It was our final Physics lesson before the ‘A’ Level.
Our Physics teacher decided to teach us a completely new subject on this
final day.
Why? I have not idea! It was like he was in some blind panic, or
had had a tip off about what was in the exam.
He decided to go into full detail on our final day about the working of
the eye.
This wasn’t teaching us in a physics style he decided to do a biology
style. Full diagram, not just on the light
properties of the eye but the full anatomical explanation.
I looked up the syllabus, which describes what we need to learn for the
'A' level, and in no way did it say anything about the eye.
I mustered up the courage for one last fight, because this teacher had
nearly broken my spirit after 4 years of teaching me.
I liked to ask lots of questions, he hated my silly questions. I gave up and stopped asking questions
several years before, my grades in maths and physics suffered for 4 years.
I reckon his teaching me cost me a grade in every subject he taught me,
in every year he taught me.
He thought his notes were so good that if we wrote them down that would
suffice, but he went so quickly I couldn’t keep up.
To be fair to him, I looked up his notes a few years later, and they were
excellent, they made sense then, but he should have been an author and not a
teacher!
Also he should have taught 20 year olds and not teens who mostly couldn’t
understand a thing he was talking about.
“Sir, why are we doing the eye?”
“Because we are, Goodson.”
“Sir, but why?
“Shut up Goodson, I think it may come up in the exam.”
“But Sir, it’s not in the syllabus.”
“Shut up Goodson, we’re doing the eye.”
“But sir, I have the syllabus here at it’s just not mentioned.”
“Goodson, Shut Up.”
“Sir?”
“WHAT?”
“Why aren’t we doing Local Government Economics today with you, that’s
not in the syllabus either!”
“Goodson, GET OUT!”
So I was dismissed from the class of our final physics lesson before 'A'
levels.
Did the eye come up in 1979 Joint Matriculation Board Physics ‘A’ Level?
DID IT HELL!
I wouldn’t tell the story if I wasn’t proven right
Tuesday 1st October 2002
What is it about a revolving thing that fascinates us as kids?
I loved merry go rounds or swivel chairs.
My one year old loves being spun round on a swivel chair. She’d sit there for hours if we let her.
She holds in with her little hands and beaming smile whilst we spin her
round.
I remember as a kid revolving for hours, watching the world go by from my
moving kingdom.
I guess we lose it when we go for bigger and bigger thrills, we start to
climb the revolving thing, we graduate to the Waltzers and finally the
Astro-Whirl which nails us to the side of a spinning wall, to the point of
sickness and then we give up on this fascination, until we return to our
executive chairs years later!