A big hello to all my growing army of fans – it’s true – I have one more…
… so this guy is an old school-friend and as one of my neighbours said (the one with two kids – well a kid and a monster) he must be really old. He’s nearly fifty as it happens.
To digress slightly: –
“The monster” is a lovely kid for 99% of the time and he just goes off on one. Last time me and MLW babysat for him and his sister, MLW had to hit me with the frying pan to make me take my hands off his throat. Mind you he had passed through that purple colour stage and was turning navy blue. Only kidding LS – wishful thinking really.
Anyway this little six-year-old fecker has just been across to my house with a plate-full of paella. His speech was obviously well-rehearsed and went along the lines of – my Mummy says we had some paella left from our tea and she wanted you to have it so you can eat it later. (MLW is away for two weeks). The little speech was absolutely fabulous and touched my heart.
As he ran back home across the street he looked back and shouted – And don’t forget to bring the plate back! Bless him.
Where was I? Oh yeah. My latest fan. The one with twenty-two siblings. Who I haven’t seen or heard from in decades.
My mate was always much more worldly-wise than I was – I suppose because I lived in a little farming village where the streetlights went out at midnight and he was from a “Town & Port” in East Yorkshire. He was the first person I knew with a CV – he even knew the full Latin term and what it meant. I didn’t even know what a CV was and he bloody had one. The smart arse.
There are many entertaining stories from our childhood/adolescence and I will relate one now.
My big sister lived in Scarborough after she got married – whoo hoo – free holidays. They never complained but the string of visitors must have been a right pain in the arse. Anyway me and my mate were staying with my sister-by-the-sea. Both of us were big lads for our age and had reached the stage when we wanted to start going in to pubs and start our drinking career.
My mate knew that if two of you walked into the pub together, one of you asked for both drinks. Apparently asking for your own drink and then your mate asking for his is a dead give away that you’re underage. Oh – and you ask for two pints of bitter – not two pints of beer. That’s another faux pas for the newly-fledged young drinker. All you lady readers don’t know half the problems young men have to put up with. Compared to your “curse” we had a myriad of problems…
Tying a Windsor knot/how much brylcream to use/which barber wouldn’t knacker your quiff/trying to look cool wearing a school cap/… I could go on.
Right – we’re in a Yorkshire seaside town in the mid-1960’s. We’re gagging to start drinking. We’re shit-scared to walk into a pub – or at least I was.
Whoops – run out of time – I’m invited out to tea. The paella’s in the fridge and will be my Sunday lunch. I’ll endeavour to finish this tale tomorrow.